Here Comes EIGHT!

Dear Connor,

Are you kidding me? I have an EIGHT YEAR OLD SON? It blows my mind. Since you were about two or three, whenever you wanted to do something that I didn't want you to do, I would tell you "Connor, you may do that when you're eight". Because eight seemed near enough to not be forever, but far enough that I didn't have to deal with it in the near future. I actually thought, or at least hoped, that you might forget that eight year olds get special privileges in our house, but no such luck. You're quite aware that today, on your eighth birthday, you are finally old enough to chew gum. I'm cringing while typing that. Helen is all too aware of it as well, and she's willing to protest with you for the right to chew gum if I don't come through on my promise. That girl has her eye on the prize - even if it's still two years and two months away for her.

And that's not all. In a few weeks, we'll be home from our monster vacation, our new au pair will have arrived, and you will be starting the THIRD GRADE. Third grade is big in Arlington. It's when you get to play an instrument in band or orchestra. You have been leaning toward the flute for a while, although I still hold on to hopes of the cello. I don't say anything, of course, because I don't want you to rebel and I do want you to make this decision based on what you're interested in. But oh, to have a cello player in the house would be grand - at least if you learned to play the thing in tune. Maybe I can get you to consider saxophone?

Seven was a year full of reading everything you could get your hands on - especially if it had to do with Star Wars. You would sit and read character encyclopedias, cartoons that told the back stories of the movies, and a ton of random books that came from both the fiction and nonfiction sections of the library. How there can be nonfiction books on a made-up film, I have no idea. Occasionally, you would stun me with your Star Wars knowledge, and I think you were constantly stunned that I have absolutely no interest in Star Wars at all. Thankfully, Dad has at least some interest and agreed to watch some of the old films with you. This proved to be extremely useful to you because it enabeld you to figure out how to solve some random level in your Lego Star Wars xBox game - another thing you love.

But this vacation has been a great opportunity to also see that you still loves marble runs, castles, and trains. We've been on a lot of trains this past week. And you are so stinkin' excited to visit Hamleys Toy Store that I'm not sure you'll sleep tonight - which is a shame because you've been a champion sleeper on this trip. The secret? Wear you out!

Seven, and now eight, are still full of wonder. You think it's amazing that Stonehenge is still standing and that Shakespeare's Globe has been recreated. Yesterday, we went on a four mile hike through the country side and you didn't even ask to be carried. That's a big change.

Seven was a year of figuring out soccer, falling in love with baseball, and becoming rather coordinated. It's been a good combination.

You blew my mind away a few days ago when you started to recite a book we read on vacation...LAST YEAR. You and Helen argued a bit over a few words in the children's book, but mostly, the two of you agreed on the exact phrasing. What a strange thing.

Seven was a year of learning how to learn, which is tougher than it might seem. Things come very easy for you academically at school, so you don't have a lot of opportunities to learn how to learn. You did have the opportunity during summer diving, and you've also had the opportunity as you soak up all the history in England. I hope you keep this up and turn it up another notch in the coming year.

You still ask to be tucked in at night and you still wake up at 6:45 nearly every day. My favorite piece of artwork from the past year was a drawing you were asked to complete to describe a time of day. You had the clock read 06:00 and had a picture of you lying in bed with the caption "is it time to wake up yet?".

Seven turned out to be a pretty easy year (with a few rough spots, for sure). Eight is coming in with such happiness that I'm feeling pretty good about it.

Much love, Connor. It's been a pleasure to vacation with you - even if you do try and give bunny ears in every photograph I snap. Now...hopefully we'll get out of Hamleys without too much damage to my credit card this afternoon!

Mom

Happy Birthday, Helen! 5!

Dear Helen,

It seems that every year, your birthday gets overshadowed by other events. I'm sorry to say, this year was no exception. For starters, in the week preceding your birthday, your brother broke his arm, your brother had surgery to repair that arm, the Nats were in the play-offs, and your school had its annual Fall Festival. All of these things took up lots of air space in this household. Luckily, you're very loud, and we adore you, so even though we were busy - we did have a great celebration.

Four was a year of obstinance. There were feet stamped, lower lips stuck out, and occasionally even tears. You fell in love with dozens of people, and dozens of people fell in love with you. You developed a sense of style that you fully own. It is clearly meant to attract attention, and you relish in it. You remain a sense of tremendous joy for so many people - most of all, me.

The drama - oh - the drama! I don't think your dad will ever get over the doctor's appointment he took you to yesterday. Apparently, you can scream louder than anyone else in the office, you were willing to duck under a chair to avoid being seen by the doctor, and ultimately, he had to hold you down to get your immunizations. But don't worry. You still claimed victory. You refused the flu shot and nobody was going to tangle with you for this optional one after the mandatory ones had been completed. You were, by the way, proud of the fight you put up.

You don't tend to walk many places, but you do skip and run an awful lot.

You rarely, if ever, shut up when you are awake.

You took dance lessons and though your Grandma Carlene would love to see you continue, 5 looks to be a year of leaving those lessons behind. You'd prefer to learn how to cartwheel and run around more. In a few weeks, you start gymnastics. You are adamant that this is the correct choice.

You learned to dive off the diving board, took a ride on Space Mountain and generally declared that this was the year you would be Connor's equal in everything he attempted.

You found a best friend, and I adore him.

You also gave up your nap! For five full years, you rested reliably nearly every day. Now, you've graduated to "quiet time" which might as well be called "uninterrupted play with babies" since you spend most of the time rocking your various babies and putting them to sleep in you bed or a basket you've brought up to your room as you carefully watch over the brood.

A few days ago, you purchased a wooden flute at a Colonial Fair. On the way home, you asked if you could play your flute during nap. You reasoned that it wasn't you making noise. You were just blowing air. It was the flute making the racket. Well played, Helen. Permission granted.

You embrace life. Life embraces you right back.

We love you, Helen. May your years be long and days be filled with joy.

Love,
Mom

Happy 7th Birthday, Connor!

Dear Connor,

Every time I turn the calendar on another year of your life, I think “we made it”. And this year was no different. We made it, Connor, through a year of public school. And even though you were the one stuck attending classes, I do mean we. We made it through a few rough patches where you really did try and develop an unpleasant side, and we made it through brilliant days as well. All par for the course, I suppose.

You love games and sports, and everything is a competition. This makes me crazy. It’s hard to convince you sometimes that taking batting practice and tossing the ball would be a lot better use of our time than trying to figure out ghost runners, batting orders, strikes, balls, outs, and scores. Tonight, in fact, when you told me you really wanted to play a game of baseball, I told you “then go find 9 more children!”.

Connor, your mind is doing crazy things these days. These things are simultaneously fascinating and infuriating. Your mind lives in a world of extremes, as far as I can tell. Your dad summed it up perfectly the other night when he told some friends that a conversation with you at a baseball game would go like this:

C: What happened?

The player was out. The fielder caught the ball in the air.

C: So, you mean because the ball did not touch the ground before the fielder caught it, the batter was out?

Yes. If the ball hits the ground first, it’s a hit. If the ball is caught before hitting the ground, the player is out.

C: But the player can get out if the fielder throws the ball to first base and the first baseman catches it before the player gets there, even if it wasn't caught in the air.

Yes. That is correct.

C: But what happens if the player hits the ball and the ball goes really, really high – higher than the stadium. And then, before the fielder catches it, he sings a verse of a song, twirls around on his right foot, and claps 3 times. Then, he catches the ball before it has time to hit the ground, because it was so high up in the air.

At this point, Ed starts to explain why the scenario described is not possible, and becomes annoyed. My answer? “The player is out. The fielder caught the ball before it hit the ground.”

Seriously. What goes on in that head? Where does this stuff come from?

We cannot keep your nose out of a book. We’re the parents who have taken to saying “Connor, you need to put that book down right now, answer my question, and then get ready for bed”. You’re the kid who responds, barely looking up, “huh”? I must remind myself of the days that reading was a chore to try and not go nuts in these many, many instances.

You do not like Helen to tell you what to do. Unfortunately for all of us, bossing people around is not a trait she can suppress easily. So instead, you walk around grumpy at the site of her commands.

Your birthday happened to fall on a family vacation to Rock Springs Family Camp. My family attended this camp when I was little, so it was a real joy to see you running from archery, to horseback riding, to fishing, to the rifle range, to canoeing. You were definitely in your element, and having your two oldest cousins there was icing on the cake.

As it turns out, 6 was good. Six was a year of getting ready by yourself, brushing your teeth by yourself, and generally becoming much more independent. But you're still young enough to want to sleep in my bed on your birthday, which I still find to be pretty sweet.

Love,
Mom

Happy (Almost) 58 Months, Helen

Dear Helen,

If there is an almost 5 year old on this planet who knows themself better than you know yourself, I have yet to meet her or him. You walk through life so full of confidence, so ready to attempt things you cannot do, and so sure that every person you meet loves you. And the occasional shock that one of these things might be misguided at any point in time hardly slows you down.

Let's face it, Helen, your life is easy. You get to see Connor do everything before you do it, carefully studying what people tell him. You also get to be among the older children in your cohort - given your October birthday. It almost seems unfair.

But you don't waste your advantages. You use them for good. You find the quiet person in class to love, you delight at telling anyone and everyone that they are your best friend and watching them light up, you wear your heart on your sleeve and share your disarming smile so freely that in general, people treat you very gently.

The only downside you have is that you rarely stop talking. This is good, of course, because I need not watch you to know what's going on, but it's also very tiring. Last Saturday, I went to the market. Connor joined me for a really lovely trip. You rattled to your dad so much during that hour Connor and I were gone that by the time I came home, your dad was demanding a plan on how we were going to accomplish our weekend jobs. Because your dad? He needed a break.

You are wise beyond your years. On float night last weekend, you and Connor were floating around the pool on an enormous float. A few minutes before that, some game of King of the Mountain was being played, but once it was just you and Connor, you spotted your opportunity. You laid down on the float and as soon as you noticed he was off-balance, you gave him a shove and he plopped right into the water. You laughed louder and with more delight than I have ever seen a child laugh, and the smile on your face is something I hope I never forget. Your dad and I were laughing too, and then I noticed another look cross your face. You realized that as soon as Connor got on that float, you were done for - and so you slid off. Laughing all the way to the water. You knew your time on that float was over, and it was totally worth it. Well done, Helen, well done.

You have become a strong swimmer over this past month, really taking a leap forward when we were in Cape May with your cousins. You came back and attacked the diving board, learning how to do a front dive, and a hurdle. Mostly, though, you like to grab your knees for a cannon ball, or spread your arms like a helicopter, jump, twist, and crash into the water. Over, and over, and over...you can do this. Such fun.

You have reminded me this past month not only how fun the diving board is, but how fun it is to run into the ocean at dusk with all your clothes on - not giving a hoot if you come out a mess.

Everyone whose life you touch is so lucky. Even if they don't realize it at first.

With love,
Mommy

Happy Month 55, Helen!

Dear Helen,

You have now reached the stunning age of 55 months. Stunning, because I look at you now and you seem to have left all that toddler behind and you are full-on little girl. When people haven't seen you for a few weeks, they always remark how old you suddenly appear. I agree. It's blowing me away.

You are joy in the form of your life force. Your energy brings the room up more than down. You trounce around in the most fabulous get-ups, and your style is at once flamboyant, happy, and little girl. You have also ended your phase of "it's too hard". It was short-lived, thankfully, but still shocks me that it existed at all.

You want everyone to be happy, or at least you want Connor to be happy. If he gets in trouble for being mean to you, you come to his defenses quickly, You will sob, in fact, begging for him to not be in trouble. And really, the biggest punishment we dole out around here is the occasional "no treat at bedtime" and the even more occasional "no books before bed". The worst punishment we have in this house is "you must stay right beside me". My freedom-loving children would love to get a chance at a naughty chair or time out. But, nonetheless, even watching these punishments seem to be too much for you.

Your class. It amazes me. You have somehow lucked into having the best pre-school teacher on the planet, and then had the class filled with the most wonderful peers. Almost all of them will be moving to the next class with you next year, and that is such a blessing. You'll have Connor's Kindergarten teacher and I'm really looking forward to it. You play with everyone in your class and love each of them dearly. A few weeks ago, however, your dad found a bunch of rocks in your pocket. This is not particularly odd, but when he asked you why they were there, you told him "those aren't rocks, Dad, they're broccoli! Sometimes, we get mad at G. and throw them at him on the playground". I have yet to get to the bottom of this story, but I'm guessing you don't actually hit him.

You have yet to walk in a straight line, or walk for very long, frankly. When we walk the halls of Connor's school, we must NOT step on the red, or the cracks, and we must skip, or sashay, or gallop! Really, Mom, it's not hard and it's fun!

You have taken to calling everyone "buddy", which I finally figured out last Saturday is what Connor's t-ball coach calls everyone. It's pretty funny hearing it from you. "Hey Buddy, it's OK Buddy". You also call your dad "papa".

You have yet to tire of Pippi Longstocking. This is killing me. Thankfully, you're still willing to read about Tiptoes Lightly, which is a lot more enjoyable for me! You preform the occasional puppet show, love to run a baby hospital, and also like to sell pets to me. Always fun, my love.

Love,
Mommy

Happy Month 81, Connor!

Dear Connor,

Counting your age in months is truly ridiculous. I get that. But my mind is a sieve these days, and I feel the memories of you and your sister slipping almost as soon as I think to myself "I hope I remember this"! Your sister and you compound the feeling by requesting stories "about me" all the time.

In the past two months, you have fire balled into a Monopoly mania that calls you like heroin calls it's addicts. If the mania doesn't stop soon, there's going to be an intervention. You now have three versions of the game, and one of these versions has three games within it. You have mastered the art of "buy-buy-buy", and only occasionally find yourself too strapped for cash to survive. When nobody will sate your desires to play the game, you've been known to just play by yourself. You have not been known to have the imaginary person you play against make good decisions. You're a lucky man that your babysitter seems to have missed out on Monopoly when she was growing up. She's making up time with you.

You are a two-wheeled rider and adore your new 20" bike. You are totally rocking it.

My friend Jean wrote an amazing post about her son with autism. In it, she carries forward an analogy from Paul Collins' book "Not Even Wrong". In the book, he states "Autists are the ultimate square pegs, and the problem with pounding a square peg into a round hole is not that the hammering is hard work. It's that you're destroying the peg." Jean carries this forward by noting that all people are different. And here is where I started thinking about you.

In a Waldorf school, the early childhood program uses a wet-on-wet technique to paint. It's one of the more serene artistic experiences I've ever been witness to. The rationale behind the method is well documented, the chief reason for its use being that at this age, children should experience the emotion and feel of the color, not be concerned with the shape. In our public school, the children are asked to paint with Tempera paints. The most common exercise with paint seems to be filling in previously drawn lines. You can probably imagine how Connor felt when faced with this task. If you can't, I'll lay it out for you. He was in tears. In art class. Does that strike you as extremely sad? Because that's how it strikes me. Isn't art supposed to be one of those classes where a kid gets to express him or herself creatively, without being super constrained? I tend to think so.

Here's an example of some of Connor's work from last year.

I have to give the art teacher a hat tip, though. I like her a lot. She used to belong to the same studio I belonged to. She's clearly a great artist. The day after Connor cried in class, sobbing "yes, I understand you're not mad at me", she found me in the hall and told me the story. I almost started crying right there. Maybe we both wear our hearts on our sleeves, Connor? As soon as she started telling me about the class and about the tears, I started explaining Connor's background. I talked to her about the merits of the technique he was used to, how it evolved each year of schooling, how Connor is actually quite skilled at it.

At first, the art teacher was mostly "well, he's at public school now, and this is what we do", but then she softened and said she could see why wet-on-wet would be a good technique. She offered to give Connor an extra painting lesson so he could have a better chance of doing what was expected of him in art class. I took her up on that offer - even though it is the ultimate in capitulation. Connor and I attended a painting class with her a couple of days ago. During that class, she started talking about the technique they were performing in class. So I asked the question I wish I heard more often: "WHY?". Her answer was generally "Because it's part of the curriculum, and I see your point that it's not really painting, per se, it's more like illustration, but in the end, kids here can produce a painting that looks like something they want very early". BINGO. Parents, apparently, want to see finished work that has real forms in it, so our children are being taught the most uncreative method I can think of in order to accomplish this. Draw lines. Fill them in. Rinse. Repeat. Don't let the paint influence the art, make the paint fit into the art.

And the whole thing made me feel like some square part of you, Connor had just been damaged. And that just hurts. And it doesn't just hurt you and me, it hurts everyone who won't benefit from this particular creative strength you bring to the process.

I can say, this is by far the biggest disappointment I've had with your school, and I must also remember that just a few days, I was on cloud 9 because two non-teacher staff members had gone out of their way to tell me "I know I'm not supposed to say this, but I just love Connor". When that happened, all I could think was "I'm counting on you to love him". I was glad.

Much love, Connor. Just know that I celebrate your square edges. I'm sorry one of them got pounded.

Love,
Mom

Happy Month 79 Months, Connor!

Dear Connor,

Oh boy, do I have some explaining to do. Seems as if my hiatus from monthly letters for you has been even longer than for your sister. The last time I wrote a letter to you, you had just turned 6. And now? You've left 6.5 in the dust and are cruising to 7.

When last we touched base, I was thrilled to be dumping the "teach Connor to read" job off onto a professional. It has worked. You are a reader. You've finally made it through the stage of "do I have to?" when it's time to read to the stage of having multiple books on your nightstand with bookmarks in them. It's not all that uncommon to see you reading when you're waiting on something. And occasionally, you try and read by nightlight. If you didn't share a room with Helen, I'd designate some before sleep solo reading time for you, but I can't figure out how to make it work with her in the room.

You love your sister, but you also enjoy testing out unkind acts on her. You'll use a very stern voice with her. You'll make rules for games that make it so she cannot possibly win. You've even been known to push her on occasion. But still, she has a great memory for all the nice things you do because she is the first person to step to your defense. She always wants to share with you. And clearly, she adores you. I would still rate your relationship better than most, but wow does it hurt my heart when you're not nice to her.

For the most part, you're cruising through the year. We hit a rough spot a couple of months ago where you clearly felt like you never got to do anything you wanted and you were always being told what to do. This is hard for me, Connor, because I know how truly easy your life is. But your perspective is different than mine, and we seem to have found a nice compromise. Naturally, you showed none of this side of yourself at school. I know, because I asked. Predictably, your teacher was absolutely shocked when I told here you were driving me crazy. Because you? You are the sweetest boy in the world.

You still love math, and you love your extra math class at school. You do not, however, love it enough that you will be enrolling in the summer program that your teacher is recommending you for. I've heard mixed reviews about the level of fun vs. academic structure and I think you're better off running around this summer than doing anything else.

You are the chief pizza dough roller, which is a super useful skill. Helen pats the dough into a circle, and then you take a small wooden roller and roll perfectly delightful, thin crusts. We then pile on sauce and whatever else we can find in the refrigerator and pizza is born. A few nights ago, you surprised your dad by rolling out extra pizza dough into flatbread. It was delicious.

Soccer has captured your attention and you've started learning how to play t-ball on a team. The team is mostly younger children because it's for either Kindergarten or first-timers. I guess most people start t-ball in Kindergarten. It seems like the coach is interested in having fun though, so this should be a good time. You can now throw a ball accurately more than half the time. However, you had a "great idea" a couple of weeks ago and told me you didn't need me to practice baseball because you could just throw a ball at the screened-in-porch and it would bounce back to you. Thankfully, you told me of your discovery before ruining our porch.

You enjoy sword fighting and love the nerf gun your grandparents bought you in Utah. For the record, they did call me when you fell in love with this toy to see if it was OK. I felt you needed a "win", so you got the gun. Not surprisingly, it can cause trouble, and as I type, the gun is resting after a particularly troublesome display a few weeks ago.

You've settled into a nice group of friends and seem to look forward to seeing them. I think it's nice that your class seems to have bonded so well. You've also announced a few times who you will marry. She's a nice girl, but I'm guessing you'll both change and grow a lot over the next 20 years.

For the most part, you make good decisions. And that is a very comforting thing for me. If you run ahead of me, you stop at the corner. Occasionally, your dad or I send a treat in your lunch and you always eat the rest of your lunch first, often bringing the treat home for after school saying you didn't have time to finish it.

Board games and other games with rules are still a big hit. I get a little fatigued from these games, but maybe soon you and Helen will learn how to play bridge. That would be fantastic.

You're my charming little guy and it is nearly impossible for me to believe how much you are changing and growing. I wouldn't trade you for any other. We were meant to be together.

Love,
Mommy

Happy Month 53, Helen!

Dear Helen,

Someday, I suspect you will start going through this blog, and realize that I used to be quite good at writing monthly updates. I loved those, Helen. It was my moment to sit back and reflect on your development. Sadly, I haven't prioritized that, so there are many, many missing months. I'm sorry. But I promise you, I was doing the best I could. If you ever become a mom, you'll totally get this.

Helen can now reach the window control in the car. That is most fantastic, in case you couldn't tell.

The last time I drafted one of these notes, you turned 4. I must say, you came through in spades with my wish to have an easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy six months with you. By the book, my friend, you have spent the past 5 months embracing everything you do, smiling, laughing, and generally being a pleasure to be around. I realize I might be cheating the fates, but just to put it out there, I am totally cool with you spending the whole year like this, rather than deciding to struggle into 5 for six months.

Of course, you have also shown your stubborn streak, are becoming a master story-crafter (and not always in a good way), and can stomp your feet with the best of them.

Helenstyle.

You still find yourself incapable of walking anywhere. You skip. You jump. Sometimes, you hop on one foot and point out that you are doing something "really amazing". I think your feet might have grown though, because you seem to be constantly stubbing your toes. You also seem somewhat accident prone in general. A few days ago, after calling your Uncle Bill for advice on whether I should take you seriously when you were screaming about your head hurting from a rather dramatic fall earlier in the day, I told you that you'd be wearing a helmet from here on out if you had one more accident. You thought I was kidding.

Helen was surprised by something at my office children's holiday party.

Mostly, you're a pretty independent little gal. We moved a bunch of cups to a drawer so that you could get your own water and in the morning when I'm with you, you're happy to pour juice for you and Connor. So long as the container isn't too full, the juice lands mostly in the cup. BONUS!

Everything you do seems to be exaggerated. When you sob, you sob loudly. When you are excited, you cheer. You choose outfits with pop and on the rare day that your clothes do match, you don a crazy hat before you head out of the door. You love the attention it all brings.

Just chasing pigeons in New York City.

Troubling to me recently is your insistence these days that you can't do certain things because they are "too hard". What? From my child who can tackle anything? I don't believe it. Not for a minute.

A few months ago, I decided that I needed to run again. Rather than leaving you with your babysitter, you insisted I bring you along with me. I dusted off the jogging stroller, inflated the tires, and set off. Although you only weigh about 27 pounds, that's a lot uphill. At the start of our jog, you insisted I was going too fast and you had to put your notebook away because it was too bumpy. By the time we got to a hill, you shouted several times "are you sure you're still running back there?". Yes, Helen, I was still running - or at least not letting you cruise unassisted to the bottom of the big hill.

You occasionally declare that you will be a meat eater when you grow up and that may well be true. For the most part, you still embrace food - except for sauce on pasta. You have decided that you do not like sauce on your pasta, and let me know regularly. You do, however, still like kale chips, so you get a pass on several other items.

Why yes, that is a balloon taped to Helen's head. And yes, she is the only one on the mountain that looks like this.

 You still adore school, and that's such a treat. On my drop-off day, you sometimes don't even hang out long enough to tell me good-bye. You've got pirate adventures and police and babies and oh so much more to attend to.

You have taken on the task of answering the phone. As soon as it starts ringing, you dash to it and ask "who are you" and then, if you know the person. you'll chat with them for a bit before bringing me the phone. Several times, a telemarketer has called, and I will hear you say "Do you KNOW my mom? Are you her friend?". By the time I get the phone, they seem as confused about calling me as you are about them calling me.

You've recently gone back to your insistence that you need a "real person" to sleep with. One night, I gave in, and this turned out to be one of my more brilliant parenting moves. You fell ill with some nasty virus in the middle of the night. You pretty much puked all over me, which I realize sounds like a bad thing. But the alternative? Way worse, I guarantee, so I gave myself a pat on the back and ran to the bathroom with you several times that night. The next day, you were not in very good shape, but after about 24 hours of keeping not even a few swallows of water down, the pox left our house. I credit my constant hand washing and sanitizing that day for saving the rest of the family from your fate.

Just taking a swig of pickle juice.

You love your ballet class, and it's caused me to learn one of your more freaky talents. At the age of not quite 4.5, when most children do not have a proper "r" sound, you can imitate many french ballet terms perfectly. You can also tell me how every child in your class says your name. It's pretty funny. Given your love for talking, I should be putting you in child theatre. But I think we both know that's not going to happen.

You have suddenly become aware of your size, and you check your clothes each day to make sure you are wearing a 4T. On the days when you put on a shirt that's a smaller size, you will remark with amazement that it still fits. Your underpants are 2T, and you regularly say in disbelief "Are you serious? I'm wearing a 2T?". Trust me, friend, someday you'll appreciate you small sized bottom.
If I'd known how much joy you would bring into my life, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been so nervous about you coming into it, Helen.

Love,
Mommy

NaBloPoMo Advice Column - Day 29 - Trust Yourself

I'm writing 30 thoughts in 30 days for NaBloPoMo. In no particular order, I'm giving you my worldview - as it comes up.

Dear Helen and Connor,
 
By the time you read this, you'll likely be heading towards adulthood. You'll have been given advice from anyone and everyone, and the really hard part is probably going to be sorting it all out. Smart people who you trust will disagree. Someone you love will be wrong. And always, circumstances are changing. And that means I could write the most detailed guidebook in the world, but in the end, it would be insufficient for more than the most basic of existences. You will, above all, have to find a way to trust yourself.
 
I could point out lots of disagreements in my own life, but I think it would serve only to bring up past wounds and the opportunity for an "I told you so" or two - from me or the other party involved. It's enough to let you know that I struggle. Everyone with a heart struggles.
 
A former boss of mine once told me, when discussing a well-known scholar "We disagree with Scholar, but I think the important thing is recognizing that Scholar wants the same thing you and I do. Scholar wants to make the world a better place. We just disagree on how to do that. And the truth is, the problems are so vast, neither one of us knows whose path will work best." I've tried to hold that in my heart as I've disagreed with people over the years. And for me, this has made life a lot easier to tolerate. I assume the best of my political opponents - and I hope you can do that, too. Having said this, I will also guarantee that you will disagree with someone, present the facts as you see them, they will not have an answer, they will lie, and they will use that lie to remain unconvinced. This will likely infuriate you, as it does me. Trust yourself, and keep moving.
 
The good news is that lots of times it will be easy to trust yourself. You'll have a room full of people surrounding you, cheering you on. If you're lucky, you'll have a loved one, friend, or advisor who will talk things through with you and be your rock. But occasionally, your back will be against the wall - and you will know, deep down, the right thing to do. I implore you, Connor and Helen, when that moment happens - trust yourself. Even if it means opposing your own mother, trust yourself and do what is right. Because in the end, you will have to live with yourself and the decisions you make, just as I live with my decisions.
 
Love,
Mommy

Building a worldview:
Day 1: Surround Yourself With Brilliant People (though my friend Susan makes a good point that clever is pretty good, too).
Day 2: Whatever, it works.
Day 3: Surround Yourself With Beauty
Day 4: When You Go Through Something New - Drag Someone With You
Day 5: No sweatpants.
Day 6: Embrace the Crazy
Day 7: Listen to Your Friends or Fight Old Fogey-dom. Get out there. Keep experiencing fun, new things.
Day 8: Don't Let Anyone Sell You Short
Day 9: Take a Lesson From Your Child
Day 10: Consume the best chocolate you can
Day 11: Help your neighbor.
Day 12: Take Breaks
Day 13: Establish a Realistic Rhythm
Day 14: Sometimes, you just have to ask.
Day 15: Loose Lips Sink Ships
Day 16: Stop Things from Going from Bad to Worse
Day 17: Understand the Price of Success
Day 18: Question Everything
Day 19: Drink Great Wine with Old Friends
Day 20: Never Be a Volunteer at a Street Show in New Orleans
Day 21: Let Your Friends Bail You Out
Day 22: Turn Trash Into Treasure
Day 23: Always Have a Dream
Day 24: Give Thanks
Day 25: Develop Your Own Sense of Style - and Own It!
Day 26: Always Have the Ingredients for Chocolate Chip Cookies on Hand
Day 27: Take Advantage of Unseasonably Warm Days

Day 28: Don't Do Too Much When You Have a Head Cold

Happy 4th Birthday, Helen!

Dear Helen,

Yesterday, after much anticipation, you turned 4. Since Connor's birthday, you have been pretty excited about your own celebration. At one point, I told you that your birthday was in the fall. I received the following note from your teacher a couple of weeks ago.

"I am sure you are aware Helen's birthday is approaching (she reminds me often)! The first day of school she saw some leaves fall and said "oh no, it is fall. Maybe I am already four now. We might have missed my birthday. I will have to ask my mom. I will tell you tomorrow if I am four."

I have heard several theories related to the ebb and flow of behavior, and how for six months, life is gloriously easy as a child settles into herself. Then, there's six months of testing limits and reaching out to the next developmental phase and age. You have easily hit your stride so I'm banking on another six months like this. Did you hear that, Universe? SIX MORE MONTHS OF FUN, HAPPINESS, AND LOVING LIFE with LITTLE TO NO COMPLICATIONS.


The best thing you do these days is running after your dad or I as we head off to work and you race us to the corner. Pure delight on all sides. Your dad takes the time to bring you back. I'm afraid I'll drop you, so you run back to your dad after waving to me at the stop sign.

You are wonderfully expressive and emotional. Things are often very good, or terrible. And if they're the latter, you let everyone know. Often. Even after you're supposed to be sleeping, you will call downstairs to issue that one last important grievance. Sometimes, it's hard to convince you to just go to sleep.


You are S.L.O.W. when it comes to eating, but also somewhat adventurous. Mostly, you have a lot of rather unimportant things to say at dinner, when you have a pretty good audience since others are eating, and you like to fill our time with entertaining, rather than eating. I attended class with you on your birthday and when it came time for snack you were served rice, seaweed, sesame seeds, and kale chips. You happily told me that the rice tastes even better when it's rolled in the nori and then you sat and ate every bite of snack, asking for seconds. After eating the first bit of kale, you gave a little shiver and told me you didn't like it - but then you gobbled it up and explained to me it was quite delicious. Love that!


You know what you want in life, and you easily direct others to help you. Occasionally, you decide to use your cuteness and charm to convince people to perform even the simplest of tasks for you. I think I'm the only one who hasn't been convinced to turn the light on in the bathroom for you.

You adore Connor, and the best days in life are the ones that include him. This melts even my heart.

Grandpa Rodney and Grandma Carlene came to help celebrate your birthday. Presents! Fun!

We are so very lucky to have you in our lives!

Love,
Mommy

Happy 47 Months, Helen

Dear Helen,

You started drop-off school this year and you could not possibly have been happier. You've been wanting to go to school without me for a year, and you were not disappointed when it finally came to pass. I was happy to drop you off at school and feel great about how you spend your mornings.

You are a laugh a minute, and I can hardly keep up with you. Your energy is explosive, and you both fall in love fast, and draw others to fall in love fast with you. It's super endearing.

You have one habit that is so annoying, I want to scream. Many times. Each day. You cannot be wrong, and you always get your way. Neither of these are, of course, true. But you will argue with anyone that they are. This, for example, is not an unusual conversation.

You: "I want that toy purse."
Me: "No, Helen, I'm shopping for a birthday present for your friend today. I'm not buying anything for you."
You: "I meant, I will buy that purse for my kids. I didn't mean I wanted it for me."

- or -

Me: "I'm taking you to a new park today."
You: "I've been there before."
Me: "No, you haven't."
You: "Yes I have. I flew there last night."

at some point, this annoyed me so much I added to the previous conversation:

Me: "What did you see there?"
You: "I'm not telling you."

Do you know why my forehead is flat? It's because of the number of hours I spend banging my head against the wall because of you.

You also do the cutest thing ever, something that a neighbor commented was "straight out of Norman Rockwell". Each morning, you race your dad or me to the corner. Your dad or I hops on our bike or gets in the car, and then you should "READY, SET, GO" and you start running and waving and shouting "bye mommy" or "bye daddy" as appropriate until you get to the stop sign. You always win. But you started feeling bad about winning all the time, so you declared that we were a team, so even though you touched the stop sign first, we were both winners. When it's your dad's turn, he brings you back on his bike, which you love.

Your teacher sent me the following note a few days ago:

"Hi Elaine,
I am sure you are aware Helen's birthday is approaching (she reminds me often)! The first day of school she saw some leaves fall and said "oh no, it is fall. Maybe I am already four now. We might have missed my birthday. I will have to ask my mom. I will tell you tomorrow if I am four."

Did I mention how much I love your teacher?

Another day, you made me and another jogger laugh quite hard. I decided to take the jogging stroller out because you preferred to go running with me rather than stay home with your babysitter. At first, you were terribly annoyed with me because you were trying to draw a picture, and the ride was too bumpy. You decided to put your notebook and marker away. Then, we hit a big hill. I was working as hard as I could to get up the hill and you just kept shouting "you sure you're still running back there". Another buy on the trail laughed so hard he stopped running. I prayed that I could maintain forward momentum long enough to get to the top of the hill, because it would've been a long ride down for you.

May you always lighten my days, Helen.

Love,
Mommy

Happy Month 46, Helen!

Dear Helen,

You are my charming sweetheart who loves bright patterns and pink. Your sense of style remains unmatched in this house, and it's a rare occasion that you do not express an opinion about what you are wearing, what you are doing, or what you are planning. In other words, you still talk non-stop.

Unfortunately for me, a lot of what you seem to be saying is "NO!", "I don't care" and other bad-attitude related phrases. But of course, when you say "I don't care" it often is just a defensive maneuver and you really do care. For example, when I said "come get your hair combed so you can ride on the boat". You respond "NO! I don't care about the boat". So I said, "OK, you don't have to go on the boat", and you sobbed. Because, still, you can turn on the tears in a New York City minute.

Most of the time though, you still use your smile to brighten a room. And oh my, your hair is getting curlier by the day and you hear how cute you are approximately as many times as you meet someone new or someone sees you for the first time in a while. You've got a good combination going.

You love to run beside the car or bike when your dad or I head off to work, shouting "bye bye Mommy / Daddy" until we reach the stop sign and must turn. Every day I think you're going to trip and tumble, but so far, it's nothing but smiles. You also like to tuck a toy into our office bags, and let us know we should show everyone else in our offices. Lucky parents, we are.

You have become quite the finger knitter, and can entertain yourself for a fair amount of time as you create new things. If your dog needs a leash and you can't find one of the million scarves or ribbons in your possession, you simply make a new one with yarn! Crafty, my dear. Someday, maybe we can knit socks together as you tell me about how college is going for you.

In a few weeks, you'll begin going to school by yourself three mornings a week. You could not be more thrilled about this adventure. It's a little sad that Connor won't be there, so the two of you could see each other on the playground occasionally. As other moms ask me nervously about the first day of school, I can tell them that I'm really happy for you. You are ready to go, you are going to the best place I could imagine sending you, and I'll be surprised if you don't fall in love immediately.

You still love babies. You tend to care for one and drag it around everywhere you go, and then will all of a sudden fall in love with a different one. You've got a lot of love to give. You fall in love fast with people, too.

You have proven yourself to be quite the daredevil. We've gone to three amusement parks this summer - Busch Garden in Williamsburg, VA, Worlds of Fun in Kansas City, MO, and The Great Escape, which is somewhere in upstate, NY. You loved every one of them, and accompanied your dad on as many thrilling rides as you could find. The Scrambler was a favorite at all of the parks. If you're tall enough to go on it, you want to go on it. This is one of few times where being short truly is a disadvantage. I remember going to Worlds of Fun year after year, only to be denied entrance to the bumper cars. Devastating, it was. Each year, I'd stretch as tall as I could, and my mom would have this look in her eye almost pleading with the attendant to please, please, please let me ride, but that damn height requirement was firm. I imagine you and I will be performing the same ritual. Bummer. Total Bummer. But there are also a million ways that being short is an advantage, and I assure you, they'll be more meaningful to you in the long run.

Oh, if everyone had your vocabulary, they'd be a lot more interesting to talk with. I adore it. Your way of picking up words differs from Connor's method. He typically waits to hear a word used a few times, and then will use it in context when he's got it figured out. Whenever you hear a word you don't know, you immediately demand to know its meaning.

While on vacation, your grandmother and everyone else got to see your saddest moment ever. We were preparing to go get ice cream and you were mad at me for asking you to put your shoes on. I turned back to the dresser to find socks for Connor, and you snuck up behind me and whacked me on the bottom. Now, it certainly didn't hurt, and I could've just laughed it off, but I'm firm on my no hitting Mommy policy, and especially no hitting Mommy out of anger. So, I picked you up and let you know you would not be going for ice cream. Oh, how you howled. And howled. And howled. And every adult in the room could hardly make eye contact with me and you as I kept you firmly affixed to my hip and calmly repeated "you may not hit me". Then, I set you down, and you ran faster than I have ever seen you run, with the singular motivation to get to your daddy. And you beat me out the door, and you sobbed for the only hero who you knew could save you, and you went right for him. I appeared at this point and gave him the look that said "if you do anything except deposit that screaming child back in my arms, we are getting divorced" and so, as hard as it was for him, he gave you back to me. Apparently, your cousins were wide mouthed and wondering what the heck was going on and their mom quipped "sometimes, when someone says no, they mean it". You made one more mad dash, but the cars were gone, and although you assured me you were going to fly to the ice cream store that night, we both knew there would be no ice cream for the evening. We read books of your choosing, we laughed, you cried some more, you fell asleep faster than you've fallen asleep in a long time, hugging me tightly on the teeny-tiny Dora sofa bed that you had propped on your bunk bed and requested I join you in. Before you fell asleep, you did ask whether we could get ice cream tomorrow, and we did. In fact, we went right after lunch because I didn't want to risk you getting tired and being in a bad mood and missing out on ice cream again. You licked up every drop of that delicious chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. And you were my lovely Helen for the remainder of the trip. In fact, you started out the next morning by telling me you were never going to hit me again. You then extended the pledge to being no hitting, biting, punching, nor kicking. Frankly, I had no idea you were planning all those other things. I'm thinking this is temper tantrum number 2, but possibly it's temper tantrum number 3. Definitely, it's a number less than five. Number 1 was also over ice cream.

And since then, Helen, you've been an absolute doll. You're running and skipping and laughing and having so much fun it's infectious. Both your dad and I sit back and think about how lucky we are to have you.

Love,
Mommy

Happy 6th Birthday, Connor!

Dear Connor,

Cross another year off. You’re six! And that surely means good things are upon us. I’ve not kept up with the monthly notes, which is truly a pity. I wish I had them to look back upon. But alas, I do not, so perhaps I shall be motivated to write monthly in the future.

Five provided a lot of fantastic memories. We played hard, your artwork flourished, and you joined the diving team. Six has become known as the year you fell in love with math. You also were utterly reasonable so often that when you would be a little nutty, it threw me for a terrible loop. Yes, you bicker with your sister, and yes, that makes me completely insane. And yes, you flirt with pushing her around and seeing what you can get away with. But all and all, I think you’re more moderate than most your age.

Connor, age 5

Connor, age 6

So now that you’re 6, you like to play structured games. You love all manner of board games, and you can beat some adults at checkers – even when they’re trying. Competition motivates you greatly, but although it annoys me often, I still use it to my advantage. As in “first one out of the gift shop wins!” I tried that challenge as we departed the Philadelphia aquarium on your actual birthday. All interest of scoring some sort of treasure from the shop evaporated with the challenge. You enjoy kicking a ball around the yard, making your dad’s goal posts as narrow as possible while widening yours at every chance. You’re starting to get the hang of your bike, and you enjoy roller skating. Most of all, you thrill in riding your scooter.

Connor the builder, with Helen the princess builder in the background.

Where once you scribbled, now you draw boats, docks, trains and for your birthday, you decided to write a book. You have completed the illustrations, and you’ve been working on the story. I’m hoping you gift it to me. I might just put it on my shelf when it’s finished so I get to keep it. You see an object and then draw it. Lately, you’ve been drawing gnomes in caves protecting gems. Your paintings are beautiful.

The diving team provided more entertainment value than any other single endeavor I can recall – for both of us. And since all I had to do was watch your uncoordinated body become slightly less uncoordinated, it was a hoot. It took a while until someone reminded me of the time Greg Louganis banged his head on the board at the Olympics. That dampened my enthusiasm for the sport somewhat. I hope I’m never witness to that.

Math. It’s your friend. This year, you have tried to drive me to the loony bin as you count by 2s, 3s, 4s, 5s… This represents a solid step up from the days of “what’s 2+3?” and other fascinating questions that amused you for far too long. But still, this counting gets old. You also love dividing and multiplying and most importantly, you can actually apply your math smarts. For example, if we tell you something will happen in two weeks, you will multiply 7 and 2 to know that it’s fourteen days away. You are positive that infinity times infinity must be bigger than infinity. Ummm…no. And we’ve discussed this more than once, I’m afraid.

You’re a bit apprehensive about starting first grade, because you know at your beloved Waldorf school, you’d get to stay in Kindergarten another year – and you would very much love that. The age cut-off is 6 months different than public school. But, you’re heading to public school next year, and that means first grade. The teacher you will have is simply remarkable, and I do think the two of you will get on well together.

In preparation for first grade, we’ve been reading and oh.my.gawd, I’m looking forward to the days where you will be reading on your own all the time. When you can go to your school library, study the spines of the books, and figure out what world will be opened for you next. I believe you’re going to be blown away. The sheer amount of information contained in that room is almost impossible to fathom. The fact that your new school has such a lovely library is a new experience, and one I think you’ll love. There is also a dedicated art room, and your classroom looks out on the playground – where I am assured you will play, rain or shine, every day. And that brings great comfort to me.

We celebrated your birthday in Kansas with family, in Arlington with friends, and then in New York with more family. I think three celebrations is pretty good, but I'm quite certain you'd be game for another. We've had a back-up babysitter lately and her mom gifted you with a man made entirely out of rolls of coins. A finer present she could not have produced.

You've decided to be a White Sox fan, which is nothing short of atrocious, but I do believe I still have you as a Wildcat!

You’re a joy to have around, and just like when you were a baby and every day was better than the last, so too, are these days.

Love,

Mommy