Gem Collector

I collect these little gems, to enjoy their sparkle on a grayer day.....

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The kids have not adapted well to the time change. They never do! Despite keeping them up an hour later on the night daylight savings ended, they were still up before the crack of dawn. The next morning, a school morning, it was the same deal. (The irony here was that last week, I fussed at the boys a lot one morning after we had to chase the bus down, since they had dragged their feet so much in getting ready. Their solution? Get up half an hour earlier. Um, no?) The third morning of early waking, Aidan came into my room, abruptly woke me and announced, "Leo turned his light on, and he is playing with his slinky under the covers." He promptly turned around and walked out, leaving me half-awake and completely disoriented, trying to work out the meaning. Was this a clever euphemism, I wondered? Nah, I realized. Leo really does have a slinky that he's been playing with.

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This weekend, Aidan and I enjoyed a rare treat: a just-the-two-of-us date. I took him to lunch and we shopped for supplies he needs for the Christmas gifts he's making for his brothers. As we sat down at the table in the cozy, sun-light, warm room in a corner of Bodo's, he looked straight at me and asked with urgency, "Mom, do birds have eyelashes?" I loved this. I absolutely love how his mind works, how important it was to him to know the answer, how he'd clearly been trying to work it out for himself. I don't think that question has ever crossed my mind, not once. I wonder, then, how it came to him. I love that he catches me off guard, asks me something that really forces me to think. I love, too, that these are questions I can eventually answer (thanks, google), unlike the hard ones for which I still don't know quite what to say: What should I do when she is so mean to me? Why did he say that to me on the bus? Why did my fish have to die?

In case you're still wondering, eyelashes are usually found only on mammals, although the occasional rare bird is known to have them as well. Kind of like my rare bird, who asks such important questions.

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I'll never tire of the literary gems my children offer. Aidan's teacher told me about this awesome website, storybird.com, where people of all ages can create stories in a very user-friendly format, with clever artwork. One quiet afternoon before Halloween, Aidan dictated a creative story to me about a haunted house. I swooned when he delivered the following line: "The skeleton went back to the graveyard and said a poem that summoned his friends up from under the ground." Summoned? Said a poem??? Literary genius, this one is!!

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Leo is having a bit of a tough time right now. After all, he's the dreaded F word- FOUR. Luckily, things aren't quite as painful for me on the parenting end as they were at this same time with Aidan. So in moments of frustration and angst, I remind myself of some of Leo's very best qualities.

I've alluded this in previous posts, but Leo is having a bit of trouble with one particular boy at his school - whom I've called Mean Boy. He has tried "inoring" him (silent g in Leo's pronunciation). He has tried avoiding him. He has tried distracting him with strange diversions, like telling him jokes that couldn't possibly make sense, even to four-year-olds. (Mom, why did the cat cross the street? Because she was eating bananas, ha ha ha! Get it?)

But the most tender and kindest attempt at making Mean Boy have a change of heart about teasing and tormenting Leo is one that Leo devised all on his own. He decided to draw Mean Boy a card. And he did, and it was beautiful. He even included a "symbol salad" across the bottom (a sequence of random letters) in the hopes that he had written something. He was so proud, and so happy to deliver his card to Mean Boy. And while the long-term effect remains to be seen, it certainly appears that Leo's kind gesture was well-received. Again, I am humbled by the open, loving, and forgiving hearts of small children.
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I've saved the biggest gem for last. Although even as I prepare to write it, I know that not even a highly skilled writer (unlike me) could truly do justice to the gestures and facial expressions that would make this story scintillate.

As I've mentioned before, Pax has almost no expressive language. (speech therapy starts Thursday - hooray!!) And so he relies heavily on his expressive gestures and facial expressions to communicate his wants and needs. Dinner prep at our house is a rather torturous time of day. Pax, in particular, whines and fusses and pulls at my pants and begs to be picked up and fed. I try hard to resist his pleas, though, because pre-dinner snacks - no matter how healthy -ruin his appetite.

He's also a picky eater, so I give him small portions of everything that I'm offering, never sure what - if any of it - will make it to his belly. Last night, I served him one quarter of a veggie burger on a bun. He took one big bite out of it before we'd even said grace, then handed the rest of it to me as soon as we finished praying. I figured he didn't like it, so I put it off to the side of my plate. I took one bite of my own burger, with its melty cheese, toasted bun, and the perfect amount of each condiment - but barely had time to chew that bite before Pax was pointing and grunting that he wanted something different. Puzzled, I showed him that he had all the same things on his plate that were on my plate. I offered him more potatoes, more macaroni, more salad. No, no, and no. He abandoned the pointing and started army-crawling across the table to me. He pointed right at the burger in my hand. I shrugged and handed it to him, thinking he'd give it right back once he saw it was the same.

In a made-for-a-McDonald's-commercial gesture, he made "big eyes" as he held the burger out far from his mouth, then brought it in close, then back out again, practically salivating like Pavlov's dogs. He took one big bite. Then another. Then another, until I was begging for him to give it back. He paused, looked me straight in the eye, then pointed to the small bit of leftovers he'd handed to me earlier in the meal with a look as if to say, "See? There's yours." He continued to eat and eat and eat, shooting furtive glances at me whenever he thought I was giving up my fight. Finally, he put down the last bit of the sandwich on his napkin. I reached over to retrieve it but his ketchup-covered fist got to it first. He protectively pushed his hand down on top of the bun and glared at me with a look that said "Don't you dare touch this burger!"

I told Jeff that tonight, we're switching places at the dinner table.

Happy Halloween!

Fearless, Brave, and Ready for Action: SuperAidan and his trusty sidekick, Batman!
Our resident Vampire Pax: because he bites and keeps terrible night hours.
Yahoo!! Trick or Treat time!!

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Another Halloween for the books!! What great fun we had. The costumes came together so well - I don't know why I always doubt that they will, but I do - thanks to Jeff for the design of much of the costuming, and to my mom for sewing the beautiful capes for each boy!

At first, I thought it was a little silly that Aidan chose to be SuperAidan. A little humility, perhaps? But the more I thought about it, and reflected on what school-aged kids deal with on a daily basis, the more I decided it was a wonderful choice, that he was so "full of awesome" about himself. I love his superhero stance - deliberate, strong, convincing - and I loved how much he enjoyed being himself this Halloween.

Admittedly, I was just a teeny bit disappointed when Leo chose to be Batman. Last year's choice was so creative - Superwhy - and I was hoping for something equally cool - and literary-themed. But I should never have doubted his choice; the boy is made for tight tights and short shorts, and his heart-shaped Batman mask was as endearing to me this year as his glasses were last year.

Pax was in his element this year as a trick-or-treater. I've never seen a cuter nor more convincing vampire, and I loved watching him walk confidently up to each house and hold out his bag with a grunt. I loved watching him chase his brothers and swing his cape around. Pax the Vampire: charming, handsome, wicked. Our neighbors, who are so sweet to our boys, had bought them each a special marker-and-felt coloring set, in addition to the candy they gave them. When Greg held out the coloring set to Pax, he took one look at it, shook his head, and pointed to the candy instead.

Ephemeral

This picture is from lunch today - the three of us had been sitting around the little table, eating our bowls of cereal and discussing what we'd done that morning (a full preschool report from Leo, including how he handled Mean Boy successfully; my attempt to explain the walk that Pax and I took with a new friend to Leo, who couldn't fathom we'd done anything besides sit and wait for him to return home....)

We were each sitting in our own chairs, but after I got up from the table, Pax started inching closer and closer to Leo. Unsatisfied with his progress, he finally got out of his chair and shimmeyed in next to Leo on his chair, bringing his bowl of soup with him. It was as if he couldn't stand not being close to Leo for one more minute. I grabbed the camera and got the above shot, before I was detected....


Here, they know they've been caught - and so they've turned into little hams, happy as can be to share this tiny chair, knowing that it is silly - and special.

I'm collecting these moments. I'm acutely aware of how fleeting my time with Leo is, since he'll be off to kindergarten next year. I'm keenly aware of how different life will be next year, missing two boys in the house, not just one. I'm immensely grateful for the time these two have together, for the bond that they've forged, for the joy they find in sharing an undersized chair, eating soggy cereal. It seems as Pax sensed it today, the ephemeral time we have together, and so he wanted just a little more Leo for himself.

And I'm struggling, too, with the realization that, while our family is perfect and complete, I'm not ready for this to be over. I'm not ready to give up this full-time, all day, every day career. I'm being outsourced of a job I'm not ready to leave. I knew, even when I penned this post, how fast the days would go, how soon I'd be collecting memories of THIS year, this year before my Leo Leo goes to kindergarten. And so I collect, and I savor, and I relish, and I revel, and I remember.

Fondest Heart

I've decided it's good to find out what it feels like to miss your kids. Not often, mind you, but once-in-a-blue-moon, perhaps.

Jeff and I enjoyed our first-ever, kid-free weekend. It was marvelous. We rented a condo at a large lake not too far away from our own home, and another couple joined us for an unforgettable adventure. We left our children in the protective, capable, and loving hands of my parents, where we knew they'd have some unforgettable adventures of their own.

What struck me was the silence of it all. So much silence. Space to breathe and to think, time to let a complete thought carry out in my mind. Not that I did much of that - no worrying, no stressing, no thinking about to-do lists or upcoming school assignments. We lived very much in the moment, and we were very present that way. I can't remember a recent time when I've laughed so much or been so relaxed. It was exactly the time this tired mama needed - time alone; time with my husband; time with our dearest friends.

And yet by Sunday morning, I was excited to go home. Unused to sleeping through the night, I had awakened the night before and started missing my loveys something terrible. When we arrived home, I just kept thinking about how lucky I was. How lucky I am. These kids are MINE! These are awesome kids! They are beautiful. They smell so good. God, they are so freaking cute! And funny! And lovely! And they're MINE! I held each of them, inhaled their sweet, yummy scent...

...and fell in love, all over again.

Two: Snapshots

Pax Augustus Carter turned 2 years old just two weeks ago. We had a family celebration that started with gift opening, a favorite breakfast, a lot of time to play with new toys, and then a long nap. Rested again, we set out for Bounce n Play, a huge indoor "playground" of air-filled bounce houses, slides, and play sets. Exhausted, sweaty, and thoroughly filled with glee, we headed to dinner. Given his absolute love of hot dogs, naturally, we headed to the local hot dog joint that serves foot long dogs. Pax ate 9 inches out of 12 - no bun, just ketchup - and one might say he was in dog heaven. (get it? like hog heaven, but with a hot dog??) We topped off the night with delicious cake and ice cream, and Pax clapped and grinned each time we sang "Happy Birthday" to him.

So what does Two look like on Pax? Some Snapshots:

Pax has this wonderful, quiet way about some things. I absolutely love how his tacit determination has played out in several big milestone events. At 21 months, Pax decided he was done breastfeeding, for good. One night, he refused to nurse. Instead, he held my gaze steady, and seemed to say almost beseechingly, "I'm all done now, Mama. Is that okay with you? I'm done." Our eyes were locked on each other for a long minute, with silent understanding and acceptance passing between us. In that moment, I was reminded of the first time we locked eyes in that way - minutes old, holding Pax to nurse for the first time, he gazed deeply into my eyes as if to say "oh there you are, my mama. Here I am! I love you so much." It was a very full-circle moment: one long, steady, soul-deep gaze, bookends to the beginning and the end.

Just a few weeks later, Pax decided he'd had enough of his "baby" high chair. Instead, he would drag over the spare kid-sized booster chair, identical to the one Leo used. He would climb his way onto the seat while the food was being brought to the table, and he refused to sit in the high chair one more time. To his great credit, he made good on his end of the deal, and ate nicely without throwing his food or spreading it all over the table. I was thrilled to be rid of the hulking, bulky plastic chair, and even more thrilled at his place with us at the table.

Always a climber, Pax was not ready for nap one day and decided to climb out of his crib. Then, he did it because it was fun. Then he started doing it all the time, until I foiled his plans by turning the crib around backwards. That worked... for about a month. I knew Pax was careful when he climbed out - I'd watched him on the sly, and saw the graceful, almost poetic way in which he hoisted himself up and over the rails - but it got to be too much when he scaled the sides multiple times at night. I knew the crib days were over when I woke up to find Pax asleep next to me, having no idea when or for how long he'd been snuggled up in my bed. Out came the toddler bed, away went the crib.

Predictably, Pax lands himself in a bit of trouble, too. Hair pulling, biting, hurling small objects, and screeching are all part of his repertoire of "Two." Predictably, he often finds himself in time-out, as pictured here: the stove provides an oddly ideal location for time-outs (with Mom an arm's length away, of course.)

Finally, there was the pacifier. Oh, what struggles we had with Aidan and Leo when they had to give theirs up! Countless searches were conducted by weary parents when the pacifier went missing. And so it was with a deep feeling of dread one afternoon when I couldn't find the pacifier and needed to put Pax down for a nap. He did... fine. He didn't even seem to notice - his biggest concern at bedtime is making sure the scary cat isn't lurking under the bed. Still without the paci, I tried it again that night... and discovered how cute his little lips look as he's settling down to sleep. Pacifier? What pacifier? those lips seemed to say. I looked for the "easy button" to press on that one.

Oh, and he is a quiet little thing. He has almost no language, which is obviously a concern that we're investigating (although his receptive language is quite excellent). And perhaps because of his lack of words, the words he does say become all the more delicious to hear. My heart swells when he calls for me - Mama? Mama? because it is his best word - the one he's had the longest, the one he says most clearly - and because it means ME.

This boy has some mad skills when it comes to helping with dinner. Here, he expertly rolls the crescent rolls - I credit the many hours he's spent with play-doh for his developing culinary genius.

Pax is a budding musician. His favorite piece of music is - I kid you not - Carmina Burana. He absolutely loves the bombastic lines, loves the loud, crashing drums and the high trills of the piccolo, loves the chants and swells of the tenor and soprano. He listens to his Kindermusik CD and bops his head in time to the music; he thrills at using his new instruments to create all kinds of loud and satisfying sounds. Grandpa taught him "Itsy Bitsy Spider," and his favorite book at night is the Tomie dePaola's collection of favorite songs.

Half of the people we meet say that Pax looks like Aidan; the other half say he looks like Leo. Me, I think he looks exactly like... Pax. His gorgeous blond, silky hair; his chipped front tooth; his wide, open-mouthed grin and his crinkly, cresent-shaped eyes are only reflections of the person he is on the inside: sweet, happy, vivacious, loving, unique.

(He is also a Lollipop Monster, as evidenced here:)

Best of all - the novelty of Pax hasn't worn off yet, for any of us. We marvel at him. How cute he is, how sweet he is, how much we love him. How lucky we are that he is in our family, that he completes us.

Happy Birthday, Pax Augustus!

Seeds

In the earliest days of my career as Mother, I had one objective: survival. His and mine. Nursing him back to sleep late at night, I would feel great relief, thinking, I've gotten him thorough another day. In the seven years I've been at this job, I'm willing to bet I've had fewer than 100 nights of uninterrupted sleep - and yet, oddly, their wakings, much like they were in the the newborn days, are often a source of comfort for me. Soothing a boy back to sleep after a bad dream, tucking a boy back in to bed after potty-ing, and rocking a boy back to sleep, I'm comforted to know that I have helped him and been there for him, that I know, still, in the middle of the night, that he is okay.

Wistfully I remember what it was like to worry about whether time-outs should be one minute or two, or in what order I should introduce solids, or how to handle that mom at playgroup whose kids always seemed to be sick. Of course, I worried about bigger things, too. I worried about SIDS, and always felt relief as each kid outgrew the most "dangerous" SIDS ages. I worried about their growth, their eating. I worried when they were sick. But perhaps because they were in my watchful round-the-clock care, there was a lot I didn't worry about, either because it was not possible at the time, or because it was so far in the future as to be unimaginable - getting hit by a car while riding a bike; getting kidnapped; falling in the lake and drowning; not wearing a seatbelt in a fatal car accident.

Parenting is harder now. Now, I fight not to be consumed by these worries. Now, these fears are warranted, imminent. In the constant push-pull state of parenting, I want to push them out of the nest as I simultaneously want to pull them back under my protective wing. I want them to ride bikes in the street and explore the nearby woods - and yet I fear an accident. I want them to be social and friendly - and yet I fear that they will forget to be wary of strangers. I want them to be responsible and careful - and yet they are children, deserving a carefree life. I want them to be compassionate and empathetic - and yet I do not wish on them the heavy burden of worry and sorrow that are often bedmates of compassion and empathy.

I'm trying to find the balance - guiding them with the right amount of caution, without being frightening. The right amount of repetition of lessons before the words become akin to Charlie Brown's mother's dialogue. (wah wah wah wah wah). The right timing of my teachings, not wanting to deliver them too early to be understood, not wanting to be too late to be able to make any difference.

I've heard that the things that you worry about the most in life rarely, if ever, actually happen. It's why bad dreams, even recurring ones, are so reassuring. They can't really happen in real life. So I've toyed with the idea of systematically worrying about every single thing that could possibly happen to my children, and worry about each one enough that I would effectively negate the possibility of something horrific happening.

Does this make me a control freak? Nah. It's humbling, really, because just when I start to feel like I'm getting the hang of this thing called Parenting - diapering while breastfeeding; breastfeeding while cooking dinner; cooking dinner while supervising homework; supervising homework while separating the squabbling siblings - suddenly these same children are peering out of the nest. They are working to gain their independence, to take responsibility, to see the consequences of their decisions, to deal with bullies, to grapple with dead goldfish, and to continue to develop their own unique selves, very much away from the parents who have quite literally held their hands through their earliest years....

...leaving me to grapple with my own struggles and worries, constantly wondering what kind of harvest the seeds I'm planting now will yield, wondering if I've sown enough of them, sown deep enough. Planted them when the soil is eager to receive, when they will be watered and well-fed, continually nourished. Knowing that the farmer must be ever-attentive, ever-dutiful, ever-dedicated to the harvest. Knowing that the farmer must toil for many years, in gorgeous weather and in harsh storms.

Hoping that each act performed by the farmer, each seed planted will find its roots, will thrive, will be bountiful and plenty. Hoping that it is enough.

Summer Memories (Virtual) Jar

I can't deny it any longer. Summer is OVER. School's been in session for 7 weeks; my white shoes, never-to-be-worn-past-Labor-day, were stowed away 3 weeks ago, and this past Friday marked the official start of the fall season. It was hard to say goodbye to summer.

And so - in order to fill our Summer Memories Jar, I decided to go through the photos I took this summer, to remind me of moments I might have otherwise forgotten. Here, I've included just a few. They are random and out of sequence, just like our *real* memory collection jar.

Summer 2011

I *love* finding stuff like this at the end of the evening, when I am tidying up the house. Who would have thought to place a zebra in a baby crib? Genius, I tell you!

Aidan was invited on stage to play the washboard (tie) when we went to a local winery during one of their live music concerts. He played it cool onstage, but he was in HEAVEN and talks about his stage debut frequently...

Swimming, swimming, and more swimming - this year was perhaps the most fun we've had at the pool. All of the boys are becoming terrific swimmers, and everyone looked forward to a trip to the pool!

Pax, fearless Pax was jumping off the diving board regularly in order to keep up with Big Brothers!
Leo demonstrated *the funniest* faces when he dived off the board! It was mostly a combination of fear, determination, and excitement. And it was priceless.


Aidan's creativity never ceases to delight me. Here, he decided to fill his truck with lavender from our garden, and present it to me. It's still sitting on our kitchen window where I enjoy it each time I'm washing dishes or prepping meals.


My awesome brother, gifting me with his guitar-playing wisdom....

Forts, forts and more forts! The older boys became Masters of Fort Building this summer. This one came complete with a welcome sign and decorations!


We discovered a local sprinkler park, and it was an instant family favorite. The boys had such a blast each time we went!

(We've tried desperately to catch this "tantrum face" on camera. This is as close as we've come. Pax folds his arms in a huff and usually puffs out his lip at us when he is utterly put-out with the injustice heaped upon his almost-two-year-old self.)

Summertime Joy.

Endless amusement at the dinner table!

Celebrating TEN YEARS of happily married life together...
Iced coffee on hot summer days, enjoyed on the "nature chairs" on the porch!


Daredevil Pax, climbing out of his crib.....


Pax learned how to give fist bumps during Camp Laguna....



Leo was in charge of setting the table this night. It made my heart swell when I saw Pax's place setting.... (shortly before Pax refused to sit in his high chair, and insisted on a "big boy" chair like Leo's.)

Cardboard Boat Race at Camp Laguna - need I say more??!!!


Boys who always make me laugh....


Camp Laguna group picture - this was our 9th year of Camp Laguna Craziness!!
The cutest bumblebee to buzz around our garden....


Myrtle Beach....


Lazy afternoons spent reading Roald Dahl's vast collection of beloved stories....


Hiking at local trails....


A summer full of cherished memories! Hooray!!