My Preschooler

For months, crisp paper and smooth boxes of crayons have been flowing out of stores and into backpacks seemingly too large for little shoulders.

For the first time, I shopped for supplies with a list I hadn't created, grabbing glue sticks and thin palettes of watercolors without knowing the projects for which they would be used.

We tried on backpacks and shoes with velcro that could withstand both a playground and Abbey's staunch opinions.

Impossibly bright blue eyes sparkled at the smallest mention of school.

Older, brown eyes filled with tears at odd moments, unsure whether our discussions about school were preparing her or me for this change in our lives.

She awoke in the morning, surprisingly cooperative, eager to leave the house without stalling or hesitation.

My fingers shook as I fastened her beloved kitty necklace around her neck, gently lifting her hair through the thin chain.  Smiling, I kissed the cat charm, telling her my kiss would be with her all day.

All four of us went to her classroom, carefully hanging her bag on a hook, placing her new water bottle into her plastic cubby.  Bravely, she donned a name tag and quietly said hello, giddy excitement replaced by reserved anticipation.

Deliberately, I pushed aside my own concerns, my own uncertainty and focused on this first little step into a new world, just waiting to be discovered.  

She will be amazing, my magical, lovely girl.

two kids

too early

too bright of a flash

she's got the senior picture pose down already

my girl and me

with Daddy

Dylan cared more about the rocks than the camera

flashback to my first day of school

Sleep Tight

He cries out in the middle of the night.  Instinctively, my eyes fly open, waiting to hear if the next cry is louder and more urgent or a softer whine indicating he’s on his way back to sleep.  Hearing need in his voice, I roll out of bed, my feet groggily stepping over the gate at the top of the stairs, counting stairs in the darkness.

I always offer water, but usually his sip is brief, a quick swallow before he buries his head into hollow between my chin and my shoulder.

His chubby fingers reach up, tangling into the back of my hair.  Out of habit, I sing to him, usually Baby Mine or Little Boy Blue, but I know he is ready to return to his crib when his grip on my hair relaxes, fingers still caught in the messy strands of sleep.

 

The four of us read together at bedtime whenever we’re all home, curled together on the big bed in Mommy and Daddy’s room before Dylan and I walk downstairs, pausing to say goodnight to Abbey as Ryan tucks her into bed.

Tonight, though, Dylan is inconsolable that tooth-brushing time is over, and I have to take him downstairs to read on the glider, kissing Abbey briefly, so she can listen to Fancy Nancy without hearing him sob.  After a few moments, he calms down, snuggling into his crib with his blankets and musical dog.

Climbing the stairs yet again, I open the door to my girl’s room, ceiling covered in stars projected from her stuffed turtle, always the violet stars.  Her smile beams up at me from her pillow, eyes sparkling, arms reaching up for a goodnight hug and kiss. 

prompt 1...

the simple things

their sleep habits are questionable, but they sure know how to melt my heart as they're keeping me awake and dependent on coffee

Her Hiding Needs Work

Today starts my co-hosting week over at The Red Dress Club!  Please come over to visit today, where I'm talking about overcoming fear in writing, and the rest of the week.  Don't worry; I'll remind you again!

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With Dylan soundly asleep in his crib, Abbey curls into my side, bringing a book or two or a pile to read, a combination of trusted friends like Angelina Ballerina and new books from the library. 

Minnie Mouse.  Cinderella.  Vera Rides a Bicycle.  Her head grows heavy against my arm, and I take a moment to inhale her hair; our moments alone, calm and still, are fleeting.

Napping is out of the question.

Some days, the books lull her into relaxation, and she wants to watch "a little TV," which means an episode of Angelina or The Cat in the Hat or WordWorld.  Those days, I steal a little time with the laptop on the couch, letting her lean into me and point out her favorite parts.

Other days, reading rejuvenates her, and we have quiet adventures - crafts, trips to her imaginary zoo, well-known games, and those she invents as we go along.

And so began our hide and seek adventure, a game quiet enough to play with a sleeping toddler paces away, our giggles muffled into hands and pillows, rushing back to the counting spot in the kitchen if we grew too rambunctious.

She's an excellent seeker, despite (or maybe because of) her varying counting times.  She counted to fifteen.  She counted to three.  She counted to eight.  And then eleventeen, which she continues to use no matter how often we talk about it not being a number. 

Standing in the middle of the living room, she scans the room and checks possible nooks and crannies until she discovers me with a teasing: "I fooouuund you!"

But we need to work on the hiding.  She has three strategies.

 

1) Hide behind the couch cushions, burying her head and using the "I can't see Mommy, so she can't see me" approach.

2) Hiding in the exact spot where she just found me, sometimes as I am walking to the kitchen (our counting spot).

3) Telling me where she's planning on hiding.

We need to hone her hiding skills before she starts playing with people who don't pretend that it's tough to find her.

behind the couch cushions is her favorite hiding spot 

she fits under there much better than I do 

sometimes she thinks if she can't see you, she's invisible 

like I said, she likes hiding behind the cushions 

coat closet 

she turned into a princess while I was counting to fifteen

Bring on the Bare Necessities

In the darkened theater, you could hear the clickity clackity shuffle of little tap shoes and whispers to little shadows attempting to line up in a row; you could see their teacher sliding them into position and a certain cock of a head and elbow that identified one of the little dancers as our girl.

Chuckles and sighs of rememberence echoed throughout the audience as the familiar "Bare Necessities" from Disney's The Jungle Book cajoled the pocket-sized dancers to life.  Proud parents, like us, new to the recital scene smiled around the lumps in our throats, and vetern parents likely thought back to the days that their teen dancers first took the stage.

Abbey smiled and danced alongside the ten girls and one boy she met in September, the little peers she now calls "my friends" with a smile, even when she is still feeling shy enough to smile goodbye instead of yelling it across the room.  Her moves were confident, as were the steps of the dancers next to her, although we'll never know whose "interpretation" of the actual dance was correct, because they were all doing something just a little different most of the time.

In September, I wasn't sure we would make it to this day.  One of the youngest students, I worried she would be afraid of entering the classroom without me, of dancing next to girls her age without the protective mommy-barrier of our familiar playdates.

The first day she gripped my leg, her eyes impossibly wide and blue as an outgoing girl asked her name and tried to hold her hand.

But now?  She asked to wear mascara and looked eagerly for her friends as we walked down the hall to our specified waiting area.  When I went backstage after her dance to see if she wanted to sit with us until the finale before intermission, she chose instead to stay with the kids in her class, drinking juice boxes and huddling around a portable, impossible-to-hear Tangled DVD and some princess stickers.

Seeing her slowly blossom into this little girl over the course of this year means as much to me as seeing her on the stage smiling and tapping.  Well, it means almost as much.

Because, in my absolutely unbiased opinion, nothing that cute has ever graced a stage.

with her eternally patient and much loved teacher 

footie jammies requested at the end of the night

there's still a little bit of baby left there

sigh

The Why and How of It

Some days Abbey talks, almost non-stop, for hours at a time.  Great segments of our conversations involve answering some form of the question, "why?"

What is Fancy Nancy thinking?  Why is she sad?  Why is Grandma your mommy?  Why is green Daddy's favorite color?  Why?

Dylan's verbal capabilities don't yet allow for such questions, but watching him at his train table or near anything with buttons makes it clear that his questions are more likely to start with, "how?"

How does the train track make that sound?  How does pressing that button make water come out of the fountain?  How does cheese get out of the package?  How?

Sure, there are moments when these questions grow tiring.  I have answered with a short, "because" a few times and other times I have to bite it back, remembering that they are looking to me for real answers, that their questions are relevant and important.

Most of the time, the questions make me smile and often they make me laugh.  They are innocent and creative and thoughtful in ways that Abbey doesn't even realize as she's asking them, and I hope that my answers help to fuel her inquisitive mind.

In years to come, I hope that curiosity will drive them both to question their teachers, to question what they see in the media, to question what they read on the internet, to question what Ryan and I teach them.

The can be darker aspects to curiosity, the temptation to tred down dangerous paths, and that curiosity worries me already.  Hopefully, we're able to instill a strong moral compass alongside all of those whys and hows.

For now, I can simply give Abbey the best answers I can and hope that Dylan can find the space between her breaths to ask some questions of his own.

why is the frog in the box?

why does he stick out his tongue?

how does it make the clackity-clack sound?

hmmmmm, I'll figure it out myself

the word of the week is curious
go visit Mommy Words to read about other curious kids and the moms that answer their questions

Friday in the Sun

Some days are little slivers of happiness that I tuck away in my memory bank for days that aren't so lovely.

For all of the complaints I have about Michigan weather and winters, there's not much that can beat a sunny spring afternoon in this mitten shaped state of ours, and Friday was such an afternoon.

Royal wedding voyeurism, complete with a disagreement with Ryan about the classic beauty of the wedding dress (I say yay, he says yuck) and my appreciation of fascinators that don't fascinate most other people in my life.  Check.

A quick jaunt to Nordstrom Rack where I glance longingly at things I shouldn't buy, but instead of hurting my credit card, I try on oversized sparkly bracelets and rings with Abbey while Dylan sits calmly in his stroller (ok, really he was playing with necklaces, but they were sturdy and plastic.) Check.

Impromptu stop at one of our many local parks, where we run into friends, plus get a surprise (to the kids) visit from Ryan on his way home from work.  Finger-sweeping about seventy woodchips out of Dylan's mouth as he happily announces: Yuck! and letting him play in a mud puddle, because it's finally sunny and warm.  Check.

Perfection?  Maybe not, but it's close enough for me.

in the interest of full disclosure, these pictures weren't taken this Friday

but it's the sentiment, right?

Three is Frustrating

Don’t get me wrong; three is a fun and fascinating age (though I think all of their ages have been so very special in their own ways.) I suddenly have a little daughter instead of just a toddler.
But three is frustrating.

She is frustrated. One day she can zip her coat on the first try, and the next she can’t do it after thirty times, and there is no way she’s letting anyone help her.

I am frustrated. I want to help. I want to let her figure it out. I want to encourage. I want to be only ten minutes late instead of thirty-five.

She is amazing. She “reads” her books to herself when I am reading to Dylan, getting so many of the words correct, not from sight but from memory, after hearing them only once or twice.

She is frustrated. Dylan refuses to sit through anything much longer than Goodnight Moon.

I am grasping at straws. I’ve taken to giving dramatic readings of children’s stories, in the hopes that acting out The Cat in the Hat will engage both of them instead of just Abbey.

She is enthralled. She gets to pick her own shoes, and there are so many options. Sparkly, pink, purple, ties, velcro? (Pink Converse All Stars were the casual winners, bright pink patent leather to go with the Easter dress!)

She is frustrated. Mommy doesn’t want to buy the bright pink, plastic flip flops with the gigantic flower (for me, not her.)

Dylan is practically climbing out of his stroller. Who knew there were so many shoes in the world, and why does my sister need to see all of them?

If only they sold patience next to this season’s wedge heels. I’d buy some for all of us.


This post is in response to the Mama Kat's Writing Workshop prompt: What I lack . . .Because what I lack is the patience of Job. I’m working on it, though!

this was after about a million unsuccessful zippering attempts

she's half laughing and half mad, not crying

I'm not mean enough to find the camera when she's crying

Mr. Fix-It

Gender stereotypes are annoying.  Yet I find myself mentally saying, "he's such a boy!" almost daily with Dylan.  He never stops moving, he's never met an electronic device that he doesn't want to investigate, and he's recently discovered the joys of tools.

Abbey never had toy tools, so Dylan improvises as he goes along, which often means he slyly pilfers a screwdriver that you put down for a moment while working on a project.  While putting together my Bissell Sweep & Steam (love, love, love by the way), he tried to help when I had to take a minute to scratch my head read the directions.  He still smears food all over his face when he attempts to use utensils, but he actually had the screwdriver in the little screw hole and was turning it around and around.  Craziness.

My idea about the "best" part of being a parent changes all. the. time. but I have to say that I adore observing them develop into their own little selves.  My goal is to let them find their own ways in this big world, trying on different interests and passions as they discover new things, with me playing the role of cheerleader, my pom poms filled with strands of love, support, a little bit of wisdom, and hope for their futures.

another project?

helping Daddy fix the sound on the DVD player

Stolen Moments

Running before the sun rises should give me time to shower and start my day before the kids wake up.  Like any change in routine, it's going to take a little while to work out the kinks, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

On Tuesday morning, I crept back into the house, looking forward to a few moments of alone time before climbing the stairs to our bathroom.  Before I even sat down, I heard Dylan start crying and quickly retrieved him from his crib before he had the opportunity to wake Abbey. 

I grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and snuggled him close on the couch.

We dozed together for a while, neither of us minding (too much) my gym sweat.  Holding him tight, I realized  how close he is to leaving babyhood behind.  He's so heavy on my chest now; the soft hair curling slightly against his neck is that of a little boy and not the peach fuzz of his infancy that I can still feel against my cheek.

With all of our sleep issues, I should have soothed him and eased him back into his warm bed. 

Still, the memory of his small fist buried in my hair, his breath warm and even on my neck, is enough to make me so grateful I borrowed those minutes from the chaos of our day.  If he follows in Abbey's footsteps, he'll soon be a squirming, kicking, bed hog, and I'll have no choice but to place him gently back into the nest of his crib when he cries out in the early morning.

send this little guy good thoughts today

his surgery is this morning

(ok, so I took a picture of a sleeping baby

with a flash

he stayed asleep, the sweet boy)

When She Grows Up...

I try not to project future careers onto Abbey and Dylan.  Even when she asked, "Can I go to college when I'm older?" I calmly replied, "I hope you do, yes," because I know there are roads that lead in other directions than to ivy-covered university walls. 

Yet, sometimes her little imagination paints the picture for me.

Introducing Dr. Abbey...

The other doctors in her practice are Dr. Dylan (I like to think of him as a resident, since he mostly chews the equipment) and Dr. Mommy. 

Her most frequent patients are Baby Jess, Mommy, Boop, Baby Cinderella, Baby Dylan (no wonder he gets confused. doctor? patient?), and Sparty the stuffed dog.

Her favorite method of treatment is "I'm going to have to give you a shot today," but she also gives stickers (real or pretend) if you endure the shot bravely. 

There's something so precious about her fanciful imagination combined with the infinite promise of her whole life spread open before her.  In these moments when she invents and pretends and gets lost in her own world, I truly see the enormity of my job.  I've been entrusted with two little lives to nurture and protect and give strength, and the utter responsibility of parenting is awe-inspiring and wonderful and terrifying all at the same time.

Happy Birthday Baby!

Babies have this utterly amazing quality that makes it almost impossible to imagine your life without them while wondering, at the same time, how they've managed to race through a year of firsts in the blink of an eye. 

It's surreal to think that last year at this time, I was in the hospital, so eager to meet our new little bundle.  Waiting to find out if HE was a he.  Waiting to see how our family would evolve.  Waiting to see Abbey morph into a big sister.

Today we celebrate and Saturday we celebrate bigger, with family and friends and a decorated cake, but really I celebrate a little every day.

Happy Birthday Dylan Patrick.

You are so loved.

baby brother

 

so little

he didn't stay in those newborn sleepers for long!

I can't believe you're one already either, Dylan!

Finding Balance

Thanks to some holiday baking and Thanksgiving dinner obligations, coupled with massive amounts of laundry and the arrival of chillier weather, our formally on-the-go little team has been relatively homebound.  The last couple of weeks we've been spending a lot more time at home, leaving mostly for errands (hello, Target!) and grandma's house.

Maybe it's the cooler weather, but we've settled into homebody status without much protest.  Abbey is growing into a little crafter, loving glue and sequins and colorful balls of puff that she piles into "caterpillar houses" before leaving them on the floor to be found by her scavenger of a little brother.  Speaking of Dylan, he is generally content to play peek-a-boo or patty-cake or to slam the doors of Abbey's little kitchen or my slightly larger one.

Yet there's the part of me that craves the hustle and bustle of our summer and fall schedule, rushing around, sliding another activity into my tattered planner.  With so many truly wonderful resources in our area, I love finding another gem, another adventure.  I've seen Abbey slowly become more comfortable venturing into new situations, and I imagine it has something to do with the variety of people and places she's been exposed to over the past year.

The scales rock slowly back and forth, homebodies to social butterflies.  I haven't even been home with them a full year, and I'm still working to find a way to balance that scale.  Both sides of the coin have their advantages, and it's my job to help Abbey and Dylan experience the beauty of both.

Gobble Gobble!

Being thankful is something I strive to do each day.  Like so many people, I can get caught up in thinking about what I don't have or what I want, both for myself and my family.  Yet, during quiet moments, when I actually reflect on my life, I marvel each time at how incredibly blessed and lucky I am.

I am surrounded by people I love and who love me back, even when I'm difficult to love.

Even in this economy, Ryan has a secure job that provides well for our family.

My husband makes me laugh every single day.  Even on the bad days.  And some of those laughs are the ones that I remember and appreciate the most.

My kids are perfect.

Sometimes they don't sleep and sometimes they don't listen and sometimes they take my patience and toss it back and forth like a fraying ball of yarn.

But, if I ever doubted there was a God out there, I don't anymore.

They are awe-inspiring little people, and I love them more each day, even when I think it's impossible to love them any more without literally bursting.

I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this life, but I am so grateful I'm living it.

I hope your "thankful things" are as special to you as mine are to me.

Happy Thanksgiving

xoxo

craft courtesy of our friends Michaelene and Jack

the feathers each have something for which Abbey is thankful

if you can't read her writing, that makes two of us

I know, though, that there's one for each of our family members, because she told me

and the yellow one kind of has a "w", because Jack wrote "world" on his!

Respect the Turkey

I try to respect the turkey, really, I do.  For instance, the Chipmunks Christmas CD is still nestled snuggly in its case, despite Abbey's oohing and awwing at the Christmas decorations in the mall.  (To be honest, I hope we don't have a Chipmunk Christmas obsession this year; I need to find another kids CD that will keep both of us happy.)  Yet, I find myself looking forward to Christmas, mentally glossing over Thanksgiving.

I'm mentally decorating our dining room table and vowing to finally get a wreath for our door.

My Christmas list is taking shape, and I am excited to get moving on the shopping part.

Yet, I'm trying to hold back a little.  To keep the turkey in the forefront of my mind.  I have oodles to be thankful for this season, and a holiday devoted to those things is the perfect base for the Christmas season.  I tried to explain Thanksgiving to Abbey, but she has been dazzled by the Toys R Us catalog and the lure of quilted Pottery Barn stockings.  It's going to be tough to convince her to put those things aside for some pilgrim hats and tri-colored corn cobs.

She is enchanted by Christmas.  And since that childhood amazement is one of the things for which I am most thankful, how can I resist?

say goodbye to Halloween

a pre-schooler's candy store

she's drunk on dollhouses

we had to break it to her that Santa wasn't going to be able to fit the four-story one on his sleigh

(or in our teeny tiny house!)

Welcome to Mars

Remember that whole Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus craze?  I never read the book, because I didn't need a book to tell me boys were different than girls.  (I was in high school when it came out.  I didn't understand myself, let alone the opposite sex. 

Dylan is only eight months old, and I already feel like I am on a different parenting planet than the one we landed on when Abbey was born.  Now, I'm going to go all generalization-crazy here.  Keep in mind I am talking only about my personal experience with my research group, sample size two.  I know that all kids are different, personalities play a big part, blah blah blah blah. 

Yet, I'm telling you, there are stereotypical differences already.  I had a moment of panic when I was pregnant and exhausted and having a rough day with Abbey.  (We didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl.)  I realized that having two teenage girls at once would be terrifying but that having a little boy to chase all around the world was equally terrifying.  I calmed myself down by thinking that not all boys were wild beasts and that I could always invest in wine if we had another girl (just kidding about the wine.  I think.)

I'm sure it's true that not all boys are wild movement machines, but our boy is all over the place.  I remember being able to leave Abbey in the family room with a couple of toys while going to throw in a load of laundry.  I would come back, and she would be calmly playing in the same spot.  If I do that with Dylan, there's no predicting where he will be when I return.  We hardly child-proofed with Abbey, and I am already trying to decide just how many gates and cupboard locks are too many, really?? 

So welcome to Mars.  I can't imagine what it's going to be like when he is walking running all over.  I feel grateful that we've got our little Venus around to balance things out.  And by balance things out, I mean throw tantrums that generally stay in one place.  Because no matter what planet they're from, both are so wonderfully challenging and wonderfully rewarding in their own ways.

until we get another gate, we stop him however we can

foiled again

he doesn't let himself worry about it for too long

A Physics Lesson

There’s a law in physics that talks about every action having an equal and opposite reaction. I think. Now, I know I could Google this information pretty quickly, but I don’t want to do that. First of all, if I’m wrong, then the concept of this post won’t work. Secondly, I prefer to remember all of the limited physics knowledge I have coming from the school of Mike Cannon of Las Vegas – one of the greatest TV shows ever. Don’t underestimate Mike Cannon; he went to MIT, people!


Anyway, I’m off on a tangent (and I DO know what that means, thank you minor in math). What I want to talk about is how parenting is a lot like physics. Parenting involves a ton of anticipation; from the moment you pull the pregnancy test out of its foil wrapper, you’ve opened yourself up to the greatest sort of anticipation in the world. Boy or girl? Who will the baby look like? Shy or outgoing? Blue eyes or brown? The list is endless.

I’m learning, though, that for all of that anticipation, there’s an equal amount of regret involved. Maybe regret isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s something more like “what in the world was I thinking????”

For example, we watched Dylan for days when he was on the verge of crawling, anticipating his first little scoots across the floor. Adorable, right? I had to remind myself of that a couple of weeks later, when I left the room for about thirty seconds, only to return to find him perched on the top of the little picnic table in the dining room.

I remember waiting for what seemed like forever to hear Abbey’s sweet little voice say its first words; now there are days when I think I might pull out my hair if she starts one more sentence with, “I want…”

I’m currently lamenting the fact that Dylan seems to be a worse sleeper than Abbey, which I wasn’t really sure was possible. Yet, I know that one day I’ll be waiting for them to crawl out of bed after a late night out (I remember my own teenage years), and I started to think about how at least now I know they are safe at home, in bed or in our arms, and there’s something to be said for cuddling a baby well into the morning hours.

Basically, the physics of parenting states that for each moment of realized anticipation comes a bit of regret. Each of their little phases are so fleeting and sweet, and wishing them away simply so that I can get a better night’s sleep is only going to come back to haunt me in the end.

Of course that’s easier to say right now than it will be at 2:45 am when Dylan’s up for the sixth time in an hour…

MIT, feel free to contact me at your convenience for the guest professorship on Parenting Physics. You should see my kids demonstrate that irresistible force/immovable object law (or something like that.)

Photo evidence showing they already like to prove me wrong:

maybe the problem is that we expect them to sleep in their cribs?

seriously

he fell asleep before I even got his little pants all the way up

of course getting pants over a cloth diaper does take a little extra time

she didn't fall asleep with shoes on

she stayed asleep when I put them on

we were running late (of course that's when they decide to sleep)