She Likes Purple

Five is...

(Four is...)

Five is argumentative. If you say the sky is blue, five says somewhat matter-of-factly, "Actually, I think the sky is light blue." You may gnash your teeth and pull out your hair and attempt to define blue for age five, but age five doesn't care, sorry five's not sorry, it's definitely light blue.

Five knows everything, no really all of it. You may ask five a question it doesn't know the answer to, but that's simply because something is obviously wrong with the question. 

Five has lost the ability to process any information that isn't information about football or Beyblades or Legos or dessert. If you ask five to feed the dog, five will say, "Sure!" and then you will remind five to feed the dog, and five will say, "Yes, mommy!" and the dog will not be fed until 15 minutes later when you yell, "SERIOUSLY, FEED MOLLY OR SHE GETS YOUR DINNER."

"Don't YELL Mommy!"

Five is just starting to really define its actual independence and where age two or three proudly declared, "I CAN DO IT" when age two or three most definitely could not do it, age five is willing to try a ton of new things that age five can actually do. Maybe not well or tidy but age five sort of thinks it can take on the world, and age five is sort of right.

Age five's manners are starting to click, and you hear "thank you" sweetly shouted at waitresses and teachers and grandparents after years of reminding it to say thank you. Age five speaks loudly enough for others to hear, and answers questions in complete sentences, not shy one-word whispers. When someone asks five how school is, five says, "We went on a field trip and I played with Alejandro at recess and we have dance parties!" animatedly, with confidence.

While age five literally never stops talking it's still an age of few words when I'm the one asking the questions. (I have to get ridiculously creative when I'm peppering him with questions at the end of the school day.) Age five has ironically  said, "I AM DONE WITH THESE QUESTIONS" because oh really, age five? I had to answer 74 questions the other day about where babies come from, I promise asking who you sat next to at lunch is less uncomfortable. 

Age five is better at math than I am. 

Age five is honest and can sometimes deeply hurt a fragile mom's feelings. Age five doesn't mean to, but age five speaks the truth. Oh yes.

Age five turns to wave when it gets out of the car, in the school pick-up line in the morning, drowning beneath its big-kid backpack. Age five grins with its whole self and laughs even deeper. Age five is so, so, so big but when you put it up against all those other grades in elementary school, age five is so, so, so tiny. Too tiny. Are we sure its legal, to let age five walk into that school building each day, all on its own?

Age five is resilient. When a kid says "I don't like you" on the playground, while our hearts fracture into one million pieces, age five says, "I walked away and played with Jack instead." Oh age five. I think I'm learning from you more than I'm teaching you.

Age five still runs to hug you at the end of the day, and while its harder than ever before to pick up five and hug it close to you, you still can. Not for much longer. But for now. You hug and hug and hug. Age five hugs better than anyone you know.

Age five holds the door open for you, and says, "You go first mommy." 

Age five still has the tiniest, smallest hint of baby in its cheeks and elbows and belly when age five is fast asleep. 

Age five says "Seriously?" when it witnesses an injustice, like a car not using its turn signal or a motorcyclist not wearing his/her helmet. 

Age five is probably arguing RIGHT THIS SECOND.

Sometimes when you glance at age five from across the soccer field or parking lot or backyard or dinner table, your breath catches because you can see what age ten or age fifteen will look like. Age five feels closer to that than it feels to those early ages. Weren't you just looking at age one or two? Time feels so strange most days. I remember willing time to speed up, so I could sleep more, be alone more, read more. Age five is at a starting line and the gun's gone off, and you've been waiting five entire years for it to do exactly that but now that it has...wait. Don't turn that corner quite so quickly. Alright, if you must, look back just once, would you?

Age five looks back, but far too quickly.

Age five is hard and beautiful and hilarious (seriously, hilarious) and cool and smart and running away from you a little more each and every day. 

Age five runs a lot. (And trips a lot too.) 

When we were trying, hoping, praying to get pregnant, I used to drive around and talk to my future baby. I'd say things like "I don't care what books you like or even if you like books at all. I don't care what you look like or sound like. I don't care if you like boys or girls or baseball or badminton or want to live with us forever or away from us for most of your days. I don't care about any of that. I just care about you."

Age five reminds me of those weepy promises. Because age five is starting to fill in those blanks. Age five is beginning to draw its place in this world, forming hobbies, making real friends, dealing with its first disappointments and obstacles and talents and victories. And I realize that what I meant then and what I mean now, each and every day, is that as five's place gets drawn, all I really know is that I want a front-row seat in its corner. 

Age five is something else. 

I'm cheering for it every single day.

 

Hello, Goodbye

The break-neck speed that time seems to tumble by the first few years of having a child can fool us (certainly fooled me) into forgetting there's also so much routine to our crazy lives. 

Kyle's been at the same daycare since he was five months old. We've been in the same house since about then, as well. We take the same drive to school, and we take the same drive home. He's had the same best buddy since around then, and we see him at soccer practice and swim lessons and at parks when it's not a million degrees outside. 

He's hit so many milestones--crawling, walking, talking, sleeping through the night, moving out of his crib, writing his full name, riding a bike, and way back in the day my personal favorite, putting his pacifier back in his mouth himself--that life feels like it's always changing. Yet he's up at 7am every morning, still napping all these years later. He has loved Legos for years. He has loved motorcycles forever. 

He watches sports and plays soccer and though my memory is stellar, it gets fuzzy when I try to reach back into it to remember a time when he didn't watch sports or play soccer. 

We say goodbye to his daycare teachers and 7am wakeups and naps next month. He starts Kindergarten and, not to sound too dramatic, he starts his entire life. I remember my first day of Kindergarten. What I wore, where I sat, how long I wanted my parents to stay in the room with me (longer than they were able to). I bet he remembers all that too.

I'm thrilled for this new chapter, and I'm so thrilled for him. Kindergarten! School! He's going to have a blast, even when he doesn't. Even when days suck, he's going to be starting his beautiful life. I can't wait to witness it. I can't wait to watch him read and learn and add and subtract and throw Kindergarten-level fits when he's too exhausted to speak clearly at the end of the day. To make friendships and break friendships. To eventually fall in love, with people and hobbies and moments.

But it's a new chapter and with it the end of, truly, a five-year-long one that came before. That came first. His first chapter, closing.

Hello and goodbye. 

Hello.

Goodbye.

The Best Day(s) of His Life

I don't know if there's anything I've loved as much as Kyle loves motorcycle racing. Specifically MotoGP. (Okay, I do know, but they're all fictional characters from CW shows, and it's better I stop talking about it in public now that I'm 32.)

Anyway, I can't quite remember when his love first began. When he first started watching races, talking about the riders, reciting stats and numbers and exact reasons why so-and-so crashed. "He didn't lean enough to the right, Mommy. The corner got him." 

He began popping out of bed on Sunday mornings, asking if there was a new race on. If there wasn't (sometimes a few weeks pass between races), he'd just ask to watch another race over again. There are certain races I've seen a dozen times. Maybe more.

Mike races, and I first thought Kyle picked up this love because he wanted to be more like his Dad. Who could blame him? But as Mike reminds me, this kid knows way more than he does at this point. 

His love grew so strong that he got a Cycle World magazine subscription for Christmas and when a new issue arrives, he takes it to bed with him and "reads" it cover to cover. 

We watched the first race of the season a few weeks ago at my in-laws house and a few days later, as we drove home from school, he said completely out of the blue: "I'm just really proud of Scott Redding for coming in seventh place in his first MotoGP race."

Uh, me too, kid. Really proud of Scott Redding.

MotoGP is an international motorcycle racing circuit. It's a seriously big deal, though most people have no idea what I'm talking about when I talk about it. (But, one of the racers is on the Forbes list of the top-100 most-paid athletes in the world. Big deal!) They only race twice in the United States this season, and once is the new Circuit of the Americas track in Austin. One of two tracks in the entire country and it's in driving distance! Meant to be, I'd say. This is my son's DisneyWorld and Christmas and about 100 other awesome things all rolled into one. 

So, yeah, I bought three tickets like they were shoes, like they were bottles of champagne. I bought them with pure glee. Being a mother has changed me in really strange, beautiful ways.

The race was this past weekend.

It was one of the best weekends I can remember, and I like to think it was one of the best weekends Kyle can remember either. 

Funny story about his red Marc Marquez (Kyle's favorite rider and the winner in Austin!) t-shirt. We bought it for him Sunday morning, in a vendor tent at the track. We handed it to him to hold as we paid, and before we knew it, he began taking his other shirt off to change right there in the middle of everything. My shy kid is sometimes the absolute opposite of shy, kind of like how his shy mother sometimes loves to sing karaoke. 

I mentioned to someone recently just how much he loves motorcycles and racing and MotoGP, and they kind of sucked in air and said, "But doesn't that make you nervous?"

Well, sure, if he wants to ride one day, that'll probably give me a fresh set of things to worry about on top of the million things I already do. It's safe compared to riding a bike in traffic but a lot less safe than, say, writing or reading or some dozen other things I think would make for fine hobbies. Why not read a few blogs, Kyle! 

But I want him to be happy and full more than I want him to ease my worry. I want him to love something one day as much as he loves MotoGP now. If it keeps on being the same thing, I'll be thrilled. 

I really will.

The Kicker

Kyle got very into football this past year (say what you want about Johnny Manziel, but he sure knows how to make a four year old think football is the most exciting thing ever), and he's asked if he can play football himself about a hundred times since September.

Didn't think that sports-introduction through, did you, self?

"You can be the kicker!" I said once, somewhat jokingly, and now he's obsessed with that. 

So far, we've kept his "join a team" requests at bay by playing ball with him in our own backyard. I might try to convince him we're our own official team if some friends wouldn't mind coming over once a week to cheer us on. He'd be a lock for team MVP!

The love for the game is still there, though, so we were all pretty stoked to bring him to Cowbow's Stadium this past Sunday, where Mike's company had a sponsored family day planned. We got to hang out on the field and kids got to try out different football-related stations. One station was kicking field goals. 

Kyle beelined for that particular station and was first in line. He waited patiently for things to get started. Seriously, the kid didn't move for 15 minutes, and that's quite possibly a first in all of his waking hours. 

Just waiting

Setting it up

Kick! 

So his two dreams include playing football and being a MotoGP racer. Nice, safe dreams that won't do a thing to his mother's blood pressure levels, oh no.

I'm in trouble.

Upstairs Memories

We have an upstairs loft that we don't use often. It's basically a dumping ground for boxes we still haven't unpacked (four years after moving in!), storage for holiday things, where overnight guests stay, etc. We have an office nook off the main space where Mike's computer is and he's up there a couple times a week, tinkering around or playing Call of Duty. Once every few months or so, I'll escape to our oversized reading chair with a glass of wine and a book and listen to the boys wrestle down below.

For the most part, though, it's a great space with a lot of potential, just waiting for us to find the time and money to invest in making it what it could be and, until that free time or new bank account arrives, it stays mostly unused. 

***

Mike and I have always had designated sleep-in days, and that works for us. I get Saturdays, he gets Sundays and I imagine we both look forward to our respective days with insane excitement all week long. Mike and I are not morning people but our jobs and our child sure are, so six out of seven days, we're up at 7am on the dot, sometimes earlier but never later, making that one day feel like a lottery jackpot. 

Kyle's been pretty easy to quietly entertain those early weekend mornings, from about age two on. We watch TV, build Legos, color, play outside, go for donuts, and whoever is sleeping in gets to, well, sleep in. But when he was little, between 6-24 months or so, he didn't quite grasp the concept of "Daddy needs to sleep because he has literally been tired since the day you were born." So, I'd take him upstairs those Sunday mornings. He could be much louder up there, playing with his ball popper or pushing cars across the floor for hours. Every Sunday, I'd make breakfast and carry him up. We'd play, I'd yawn, and the day would begin up there.

***

We have a bathroom upstairs and it's also where we keep important papers and other things I need from time to time. Whenever I go up there, I reach the top step and instantly think of baby Kyle. Almost nothing brings me back to his crawling, screechy, soft baby days faster than the top step of our top floor. 

He's becoming such a person these days and most of the time I talk myself down quite well from missing those baby days because, come on, life moves on, oldest truth in the oldest book and it's moving on to Kyle being such a cool kid. Also he can get his own snacks and go to the bathroom alone and, yeah, having a kid is just > to having a baby (in my opinion). 

Still, sometimes I go upstairs and stand on the landing when I don't need anything at all. 

Thank everything for people with good cameras and the ability to use them

Kyle's soccer coach's wife took this picture at his first game of the season. He had just scored a goal, turned and pointed right at Mike. She thought we'd want to have it.

She was right.

Four Is

Four is very, very loud.

Four is always negotiating one more story or one more episode of Curious George or one more cookie, and it negotiaties with just a hint of chub still left in its cheeks, so you cave as often as you don't because you assume five or six or seven negotiaties with all the chub gone, poof, only to be seen in pictures and blurry memories. 

Four is doing a lot on its own. Four is pouring juice and working the remote and packing its own backpack for sleepovers at Nana's yet four still needs you as often as it doesn't. Four asks if you can button a certain pair of shorts and reach the tall shelf.

Four still holds your hand.

Four is starting to spell and read a tiny bit and ask the big questions ("Will Molly always be ours?") and watching the mind of four work is like getting to see a part of yourself you've never gotten to see before. We don't remember our own versions of four, not really, so we look into the only face we know as well as we know our own and think, I bet I asked that same crazy, wild question. Man, life is a trip.

Four can also be frustrating and, let's be honest, kind of irritating. Four asks the same questions over and over and over, and I know that's because four's brain is working at rapid-fire speeds and is just trying to process all this information we throw at it but still OMG YES WE'RE GOING TO THE PARK TOMORROW. Tomorrow! That's when we're going to the park. 

"Mommy, are we going to the park today or tomorrow."

"I love you with everything I have, but if you ask me that one more time, Mommy is going to need a serious time-out."

Oh, four.

Four is so damn sweet. Four is concerned about others, four frets when a police car drives by because four "hopes everyone is okay!", four hates when you accidentally step on Molly's foot ("IS SHE HURT?"), four tells you that you are "beauty" and pretty and "the super best" every single day. Four passes a dead bug and says, "I bet that bug's just sleeping." Four holds the hands of babies so gently that you just die, on the spot, because four is sweeter than anything you've ever witnessed before. Man, if we could bottle four and shove it down the throats of politicians, the world would be incredible, wouldn't it?

Four always notices when you're wearing a new dress. 

Four just barely fits on your lap but will still try to. You will let four try to fit on your lap every single day of the 365 days that four is four.

Four whines. Oh god, four whines so much you are convinced your ears are literally bleeding at the end of some days, but just as often as four whines, four engages in interesting, funny conversations. Four asks about outer space and what actually happened to dinosaurs and where our family is when we aren't with them. Four says things like, "I love all my family the best because they're mine."

Four laughs completely. What age do we stop laughing with our whole bodies? It's not age four, not yet, thank everything.

More than any other age before four, four enjoys things. Vacations! The beach! Extra dessert! Riding bikes! Pool time with friends! Baseball games! Everything is something to look forward to, and something to talk about, and something to shriek over. I want to plan a million things just to see the light on Kyle's face as he anticipates each one.

I used to think my dad took us for donuts because my dad loves donuts. And maybe that's true, that's actually probably what it was, but I now enjoy the thought that he just really loved the moment he got to tell us that's where we were going. It's so fun, to create fun for four. 

You can still pick four up (oh just barely) and four's skinny legs bounce against your knees when you walk and you (oh just barely) remember when those legs were so chubby and instead rested on your stomach and while you really don't know how you got from chubby legs against your stomach to skinny legs bouncing on your knees, you just hope hope hope you can pick four up tomorrow. 

You miss the baby, the toddler, the two-year-old, the three-year-old. How could you not? They were all special, they were all unique, they were all so damn fleeting, you cursed time like never before. And, come on, they were all so insanely cute. So cute. The cute I can conjur up just thinking of toddling, 18-month-old Kyle is unreal. And two will always be this for me. 

But four. Oh four. Four is...something else. 

Four might be the first glimpse of the person who will call home in twenty years. The first glimpse of the friend you hope to have when you're gray. The glimpse of the boy who will become a kid who will become a teenager who will become everything. Four is the person you're raising, not just the baby you're surviving. 

Four is the sweetest, funniest, best, most frustrating, coolest person you've ever met and you've met a lot of people in your day.

Four is this boy.

Four just may be my favorite. 

(My four needs a haircut, I know, and he's getting one this week.)

Texas is growing on me

We now have In-N-Out Burger, Trader Joe's, and these views an hour-long plane ride away.

(It's not the Carribean or anything, I know, but it's not half-bad either.)

Okay, so we likely always had these views an hour-long plane ride away, but I had never hopped on a plane with my kid to see them before this past weekend.

Hard to tell if Kyle enjoyed things, though.

We traveled down to Port Aransas for our niece's first birthday. Even though the celebration fell on Father's Day, Mike already had a motorcycle race planned (with his dad) out of town, so I decided spending the holiday with the rest of his family was the next best thing to celebrating with him.

Kyle's four, but it was actually our first flight just the two of us, and I couldn't have asked for a better, more smoother flight experience on the way down (we'll ignore the flight experience on the way back, when American Airlines told us we couldn't get on an earlier flight unless we paid $75/each). On the way down, though, the lovely AA worker waived our baggage fees and let us jump the security line. Oh, airline companies, why do you have to keep us on our toes! Anyway, Kyle was a champ for all the traveling. I don't know how a four year old can channel such patience, but he was a total inspiration to me on the trip. 

It was a quick weekend away (we were gone from Friday morning to Sunday evening), but it was just what we needed. It felt like a real vacation with sandy feet and sun-kissed skin and reading on the porch of our beach house and early bedtimes (and very early mornings, which was less vacation-y than I would have preferred KYLE) even though we were gone less than three days.

I hope Kyle remembers this mini-vacation, holding hands while we walked to the beach each morning and building sandcastles and splashing in the ocean. I hope he remembers slathering sunscreen on his tiny legs and cannon-balling in the community pool, but I'll remember for us both, if he doesn't.

The only thing better than the trip itself was the company, which is the best truth of all the best trips, isn't it? Doesn't matter where we go, not really, just who we go with.

Setting Expectations

Last weekend, A'Dell and I took our kids to the zoo, and as we were leaving the house, Kyle said with glee, "I AM SO EXCITED TO RIDE A GIRAFFE."

Uh. What?

Thankfully he had a great time at the zoo despite giraffe rides being unavailable, but why on earth would he THINK he could ride giraffes at the zoo? WHO IS TELLING HIM THESE THINGS? I blame George. That damn monkey is always doing ridiculous things that no child will ever get to do. 

Then this past weekend, we took Kyle to his first Ranger's game. He had a great time, and it was fun to introduce him to baseball. The kid's got soccer and football down, but baseball was new. 

We were having a great time, eating nachos and getting a little sun, when Kyle turned to me and said, "When do I get to go on the field and play with those guys?" 

Kid, your imagination is impressive! Our job of setting realistic expecations for you is not. 

Age four is something else, though. I feel like I've become that mom, that mom who we all roll our eyes at a little bit. That mom who WILL NOT STOP TALKING ABOUT HER CHILD. Usually that kid is a baby and that woman is a new mom, but I dodged (I think?) most of those new mom bullets. I could hold a conversation about other things with my friends when Kyle was wee. I could go out with Mike and talk about many other things (usually taking naps) before coming round to gush about our cool kid, but something has happened since Kyle turned four. I CANNOT STOP TALKING ABOUT HIM. 

I called Natalie the other day and basically wanted to talk about nothing except the funny things he's recently said. In the office kitchen the other day, a co-worker who I am friendly with, but who I am certainly not friends with, asked how my weekend was and I used that as an opening to tell her a hilarious story about Kyle. She looked...eager to get back to work.

I don't know, it's just a really fun age. Four year olds! They're awesome.

I taught four year olds when I was in college (FOUR YEAR OLDS WHO ARE NOW THIRTEEN YEAR OLDS OMG). Well, assistant taught, I should clarify. The real teaching was left to the person with an actual college degree at the time, but I was there to assist her from 8am-12pm every single week day. (EXHAUSTING.) I loved it so much. If I could have made an actual living teaching four year olds at that school, I would have. I would come home most days and tell Mike the hilarious things my kids would say to me. Four year olds, I used to say, they are the best. So sweet! So smart! So funny! 

It's kind of weird raising a four year old vs teaching one. I am that mom bringing him into his classroom vs the teacher taking his hand to lead him to arts and crafts. I am the stressed, (sometimes) unshowered mom instead of the young teacher who somehow finds the energy to hang out with wild, dirty kids all day.

It's a weird full-circle moment having a four year old. I loved this age as a 22-year-old college student, assistant teacher. I love it just as much now. 

I sometimes look at my life and wonder how on earth I got here. I was just 22, teaching kids as a part-time job. I was going to class, I was falling in love, I was broke. I was not an adult, no way, and I could hardly imagine becoming one. But I am now. No doubt. Mortgage, career, debt, husband, kid, and on and on. 

Back then, I could only imagine I'd have my own adorable, hilarious four year old one day. I could only hope. 

Exceeded all my expectations.

Watching Them Grow

One thing they don't tell you, at least one thing they didn't tell me, is that watching your kids grow up with other great kids is one of the most adorable things around. A'Dell, how did this happen, anyway?

(March 2010; April 2013)

Seven Quick (Jumping Back Into Blogging) Takes

I have vacation recaps to write and Pinterest projects to share and suggestions for where to eat in both DC and New Orleans, and I hope I get to all those posts before 2014. In the meantime, let's dust off this blog. Seven quick (okay, not quick at all) takes...

1. Last week (wait, week before last...April you are so nuts), Molly's eyes swelled up and got a little goopy. At first, we thought it was just allergies, but then we realized she had also stopped eating and wouldn't take a treat. (Molly is like her mother. She will always take a treat.) Turns out, she had a severely abscessed tooth that had infected her nasal passages and was causing her eyes to swell. She is, thankfully, nearly good as new after a round of antibiotics and pain killers and shouldn't need surgery. Phew!

It really sucked, though, during the time we weren't quite sure what was wrong with her. Molly is usually fairly healthy. I mean, she's given us a scare or two before, sure, but it had been awhile. It was this weird wake-up call that our girl is nearly 10 and she's not exactly facing more years ahead of her than are behind her. 

When the vet went over our options with Mike, she mentioned that if the antibiotics didn't work, surgery to remove the tooth would be necessary and it would be expensive (MANY THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS EXPENSIVE). We don't have a budget item for Very Expensive Pet Surgeries, but when Mike talked to me about it, it was just a given we'd figure it out. She's our girl.

She's a dog, yes, but she's also Molly. Molly! I've loved her for as long as I've loved Mike. While she can be pretty irritating on a day-to-day basis (she's the neediest living thing in my house), this was a reminder that she is absolutely part of our family. 

Again, she's feeling much better. She probably wishes she had pulled these shenanigans years ago because we've been giving her cheese on a nightly basis, and we don't protest at all when she worms her away into our bed at night. 

So many of my friends (online and off) sent out love to her, after I mentioned what was going on, and it meant the absolute world to me. Seriously, thank you so much if you were one of those people sending warm thoughts to our girl.

She's doing so much better, she's practically skipping.

2. Have I talked yet about Justified? Well, I fell down a Justified-sized hole on Amazon Prime a few weeks ago and basically watched the entire series in something like two weeks. You'd be disgusted if you weren't so impressed, right? (Or maybe you're just disgusted...)

At first I was hesitant to start this show because I was (foolishly) led to believe there are no love stories, and I'm a girl who really prefers her TV shows to have a love story or two. But, 1) there totally are and 2) who really cares when Timothy Olyphant is wearing that cowboy hat so well throughout the series.

I'm all caught up in time...to wait a year for the next season! Cable TV seasons routinely break my heart.

3. I hesitate to declare this here because I've been doing it for a WHOPPING two days, but I've finally started my 30-Day Shred Challenge. That would be 30-straight days of doing (level 1, I'm not insane) the 30-Day Shred. This is such a quick and effective work-out, and a few Twitter friends are tackling the challenge with me. Want to join us?

4. I read this beautiful post about Holly's grandmother who recently passed away, and besides being reminded that Holly talks about love and family and nostalgia better than anyone, I was also struck that I won't ever be able to write a similar post about either of my biological grandmothers. 

This makes me sad, on a basic that-kind-of-stings level, but right after that thought struck me, it occurred to me that Kyle will be able to write something that heartfelt one day (if writing becomes one of his things) about either of his grandmothers. Kyle is such a lucky boy, for a million reasons, but the relationship he has with both of his grandmas (Nana and Mia, as he calls them) is near the tippy-top of the list. I've said this before and I'll say it dozens more times, but the fact that he has this beautiful, special, unconditional thing with them both, something I never had, is one of my favorite ways we're rewriting history together.

5. This feels like a very silly thing to mention, but I am trying to fill a list here. I made some small edits to this site all on my very own, so I'm basically a web designer now (ha). I added new social media buttons, new "top post" pictures (right-hand sidebar), new links, etc. Just messing around a little bit, but enjoy if you...enjoy sidebar badges and those kinds of things. 

6. We're debating taking Kyle camping for the first time this year. We need to make this decision pretty much immediately because Texas is going to get really hot in about two weeks. We'd just drive up to Oklahoma for the night, no big deal, and I think Kyle would love it. I mean, he's in such a fun stage, where everything new is So! Much! Fun! Mike really likes camping, too, and I really like when they do outdoorsy stuff together and leave me in peace to read, so it kind of works out for all of us. Last time Mike and I went camping, there was a burn ban, so we "camped" while eating dinner in nearby restaurants. That felt a little fraudy. Anyway, I'll keep you posted on our camping plans as I'm sure you're on the edge of your "WILL THEY CAMP?" seats. 

7. Speaking of Kyle, age four has been a lot of fun so far. I loved age two (so much), and still loved age three (though will readily admit that, oh boy, do you have to pay attention when parenting a three year old--they will take a mile if you give them half a centimeter), so I was a little nervous about age four. But, regardless how hard age four can be (friends start to mightily influence other four year olds, unfortunately, wiping away ALL MY HARD PARENTING WORK IN ONE AFTERNOON), the age is just so HILARIOUS. He says the funniest damn things. He has said in the course of a week, "Slip me some skin, Mommy," and "Oh phooey! Phooey is my new word, Mommy." He spells words and can read a little bit and I'm amazed anew that I get to hang out with this kid. He's my son! It's very delightful every time I remember that.

I've figured out that babies just aren't my jam. I love babies! I especially love snuggling your babies and just...passing them back to you when they show the slightest sign of being unhappy about something. But toddlers? Then kids? Oh yeah. They're my speed. 

I remember when Kyle was between one and two, maybe 15-16 months or so, and the weekends were kind of brutal. One, Mike worked weekends back then so it was just my boy and me, filling up two straight days, and I'd be so relieved by Sunday evening, which is a hard thing to confess. I was just so exhausted and he wasn't quite talking yet but he needed EVERYTHING and I couldn't sit until he went to bed. Now, we watch The Voice and he helps me cook and he makes me laugh EVERY SINGLE DAY and he asks me questions about geography and dinosaurs and stuff I really like answering. So much better than angry pointing, like he did back when.

Anyway, the other day he was looking at a picture of my mom and me from when I was in college and if there's ever a picture of me that he's not in, he assumes he was in my tummy. "Is that when I was in your belly?" "No, actually, that was before you were in my belly. That was even before I knew daddy!" He did not understand. He looked at me like I was nuts. Before him? BEFORE? No such thing. He finally said, "Oh, I must have been sleeping."

He walked off, cool kid that he is, with his hands in his pockets, and I thought to myself: I'm just so glad you showed up.

I'm so glad we're here.

A Day in the Life

(inspired by Janssen)

I nearly titled this "A Typical Day" but I realized there's just no typical day for us. Our lives are all over the place, and that's probably true for a lot of you, too. We try to create routines but damn if life doesn't make that hard. (Shaking my fist at life...)

Anyway, I wanted to record our steps for an entire day not because my life is all that interesting (oh, it's so not as you'll find out at about 10am) but because this is the kind of thing I'm going to enjoy looking back on one day.

7am: Kyle wakes me up, and I give him my phone to play with so I can steal ten more minutes of sleep.

7:10am: Okay, I'm up! I get Kyle breakfast and he eats while I take a shower. I remind him that when I get out of the shower he'll need to get dressed for school. 

7:20am: I'm out of the shower and Kyle goes (slowly, oh so slowly) to his room to get dressed. 

7:30am: I'm dressed and getting ready and Kyle comes into the bathroom so I can tie his shoes.  

7:35am: Kyle gives Mike a kiss and hug goodbye while I pack his bag for soccer practice after school. Kyle reminds me not to forget his soccer ball. 

7:40am: I grab a granola bar to eat in the car.

7:42am: I kiss Mike good-bye and tell him to have a good day. He hugs me for just an extra second. Funny how much I need that extra second.

7:45am: We're out of the house! Not exactly on time but good enough. On the way to the car Kyle sees a bunny that lives in our backyard and he gets so excited. I tell him that means we'll have good luck all day and then we wave good-bye to the bunny. Kyle says, "Have a great day, bunny! And you too Molly!" We drive off, waving.

(Bunny spotting!)

8:05am: We pull up to Kyle's school, which is usually just five minutes door to door. It took so much longer because, well, traffic. 

8:07am: Forgot the tuition check, so I run out to the car to get it. We're using the loose definition of run here, of course.

8:10am: Back in the car and on my way to work. 

8:23am: Remember my granola bar! It's the little things.

8:27am: Hit some unexpected traffic. (You know those six-word memoirs that were all the rage for a while? One of mine would absolutely be: Well shit, got stuck in traffic.)

(Unexpected traffic face with bonus Kendra Scott earrings!)

9:07am: Finally get to work, a few minutes late. 

9:15am: I make a cup of coffee (uh, of course) and chat quickly with my favorite co-worker.

9:20-10:30am: So many emails. I worked late the night before, getting my inbox under control, but I still come in to about 50 new ones I need to respond to or forward along. Also, my to-do list. It's very long.

10:30am-12:00pm: More work. It's a rare morning that I don't have a meeting or call, so it feels downright luxurious to put my head down and charge through my to-do list, uninterrupted. You are now oozing with jealousy of my rocking life, I'm sure. 

12pm: Leave for lunch. I have a work meeting with a local author, to go over her marketing plan.

12:13pm: Arrive for lunch, begin perusing the menu. Oh, menu perusing is one of my favorite things. 

(Settled on a Caesar salad with a side of salmon.)

1:45pm: Head back to the office. 

2pm: Call with a company we hope to advertise with. 

2:12pm: Call is done! Oh, under-15-minute calls are my very favorite.

3pm: Afternoon coffee and note writing. I know, afternoon coffee should be a very bad decision but my body is miraculous in that caffeine works on it (as it should) but it doesn't stop me from falling asleep whenever I'd like to.

4:40pm: Head out early, so I can make it to Kyle's school in time for soccer practice. 

5:37pm: Pull into Kyle's school. Chat with his teacher for a few minutes and head to the school bathroom to change Kyle into his soccer clothes. Oh, look! I forgot one of his cleats, so he has to wear his regular shoes. He is not thrilled with me for this. (Kyle is very rigid about few things but what he wears is one of them.) We have a brief heart-to-heart about how mommy might disappoint him on a much grander scale in the future, and I'm super sorry about the shoes but can we shake it off and move on? Eventually, we do. 

6:03pm: Pull into the soccer field parking lot. Again, the soccer field is five minutes, tops, from Kyle's school. Traffic can suck it. 

(He's briefly forgiven me for the cleat incident.)

6:06pm: Kyle realizes I ALSO forgot his water bottle. (There IS a water fountain directly next to the soccer fields, I'd like it noted.) He yells across the field to me, sititng on the bleachers, "MOMMY, YOU FORGOT EVERYTHING." I briefly think about pretending he doesn't belong to me (but all the parents know me) and then I briefly think about yelling back, "OH REALLY? DID I FORGET YOUR SOCCER BALL? NO I DID NOT." but that doesn't seem super mature (although it does seem super accurate). "Sorry, buds!" I yell back. I say a silent "you're welcome" to all the other parents for owning the "lamest soccer parent" award of the night. 

7pm: Soccer practice is over. I call Mike to give him a heads up we're on our way home. 

(Post-practice silliness and, uh, we're not driving here, I feel the need to clarify. I mean, of course we're not! He's not even buckled in! But "feeling the need to clarify" is one of the gifts the internet has given me.)

7:17pm: We pull into the driveway. Oh, it feels good to be home. 

7:19pm: Mike bought me flowers, and they're waiting for me on the table. This feels a little stagey for this post but I swear he is not a regular flower-buyer. He bought me some for Valentine's and then, before that, uh maybe our fourth anniversary in 2011. This night is a coincidence! Swear it!

7:20pm: I'm in yoga pants and QUICKLY. That's how I roll. 

7:30pm: Mike makes Kyle a PB&J sandwich for dinner (I wish I had whipped up some delicious meal for dinner on this day, to impress all of you, but sandwiches is ALSO how I roll.) Mike then makes me a fried egg sandwich. 

(With Doritos on the side. NUTRITIOUS.) 

8pm: Kyle brushes his teeth, washes his face, etc. while I ... tweet, I'm sure.

8:20pm: Story time. I think I read a Berenstain Bear book this night.

8:25pm: Mike came in and we had family story time for a couple minutes. Mike made funny noises, Kyle cracked up, I tried to keep everyone focused on the plot of the story (unsuccessfully). Hugs! Kisses! 

8:36pm: Big plans to go work-out.

8:37pm: In bed.

9pm: Asleep.

I'd like to do this once a month (I see a book-type-thing created with my once-a-month "Day in the Life" posts) but, in reality, I bet you get another one of these posts in 2014. No sooner.

Email to Kyle, 3/13/13

I nearly emailed Kyle yesterday about the Veronica Mars movie (!!!), like the awesome mother I am. The restraint I showed was really impressive (to myself). Instead, I share this moment:

Tonight we were making wishes on dandelions and you wished for dinosaurs and then got mad when they didn't just appear. Uh. I guess we need to talk about what wishes are. And maybe what dinosaurs are too.

(Not from the dandelion wishing, of course, but from a kite-flying afternoon a couple weeks ago.) 

The Secret of Having a Boy

I knew Kyle was a boy.

It's easy to say that with confidence now, of course, since he is indeed a boy but, still, I knew. My (literal) dreams were of raising a boy. 

I would have loved a girl. I need to say that for the girl that could have been. I would have taken great pride in raising her. It would have humbled me, sure, but I would have loved it. I have two nieces, one very close to Kyle's age, and I just want to scoop her up whenever I get to see her. Oh, Ella. I love her to pieces. She's adorable, she lets me brush her hair, she sits still for ages, and I get to buy her shoes forever. 

Still. I knew I would have a boy. Kyle. My boy. 

His little feet began smelling like something died on top of them around 18 months. He began creating guns out of NOTHING, out of thin air, out of the bubbles in the bathtub, at around age three. I couldn't believe he could do that, that his imagination could go to PSHAW PSHAW when I had just handed him a hairbrush or a popsicle or a spoon, my goodness, BIOLOGY YOU ARE WEIRD. 

He is usually covered in bruises. He falls, he runs into things, he plays tough, and sometimes I have no earthly idea how he gets a bruise here or there. I look at him at the end of the day and think, I really hope CPS doesn't just randomly show up to count the number or bruises on a four-year-old's legs. Because ooooh my you have quite a lot.

Then there are the Legos. Oh hell, the number of Legos in my house is insane. In fact, here's a new baby shower game for you -- you can use this one free of charge -- blindfold the mom-to-be, toss a hundred tiny Legos on the floor, make her go barefoot across the room and she wins if she gets to the other side without 1) bleeding or 2) using a LOT of profanities. The other night, I stumbled into Kyle's room in the middle of the night after being summoned for some ridiculous reason -- I think he might have seen a moth in the dark at 3am? I don't even know. -- and I stepped on a dozen Legos on the way out while saying a dozen bad words under my breath. That scene was being four-year-old Kyle's mom in a nutshell.

Then there is Kyle with a bunch of his friends. Wow. I just. When you get a bunch of boys together, I don't even know how to capture the noise level in words that are in my current vocabulary. Other than to encourage you to swing by the liquor store before that particular maddening afternoon. There is just something very loud and stressful and ALL CAPSY about a group of little boys together inside four walls. In fact, I'd only recommend getting a group of little boys together outside. Never inside. Without that stop by the liquor store first, that is. Also, little boys together will never be able to hear you. You will say DO NOT THROW A FOOTBALL IN MY KITCHEN and while your one little boy may hear that and listen, a group of little boys will just stop understanding English altogether. They can't help it, I've decided. They have to throw that football! It's just a truth of the universe along with taxes and Mondays being the worst and French fries being the best. 

Yet, my side of the bed is the farthest from our bedroom door and he comes to me every single morning, not Mike. He climbs up and snuggles into me, all bed-heady and sleepy-eyed. He is so warm those first moments after he wakes up. He usually says, "Mommy, I love you." Then, "I'm thirsty. Get me juice, please." 

When he hugs me, he wraps his arms so tightly around my neck and says, "Ohhhh, Mommy, you are the super best!" 

The other night we gave him a quarter to get a piece of candy out of a machine after dinner, and he used that quarter to buy me a ring. He was so proud to give it to me. I will wear that ring until my finger turns completely green, I swear it. Maybe even after that.

He laughs with his whole body. His laughs start in his eyes and they just explode out of him and sometimes he just falls right over from laughing, he can't even help it. Where he can rough-house and fix things and fly kites and kick soccer balls with his Dad, he laughs with me. I just never knew how incredibly fun and perfect and healing that laughter would be. 

He is warm and sweet and wonderful and pure. He is so sunny and bright. Raising him is a gift. A dream come true. 

When I hear that anyone I know is having a son, my first instinct is to say, "Ohhhhh, you are about to be told the very best secret" because that's the best way I can think to describe it.

You see boys running wildly through the grocery store, you see dirty, smelly boys shooting pretend guns on the playground, you see their bruised, scratched-up legs from afar and you don't get it. I didn't get it. They're so loud, you might think. They're so much. They really do throw footballs around your kitchen EVEN WHEN YOU TELL THEM NOT TO. Their shoes aren't nearly as cute, either, are they?

But, then you have one. A son. Your son. Your boy. And he snuggles into you first thing in the morning and he wraps his arms around your neck and he spends his only quarter on you and he laughs with his whole self and he calls you (his mom!) the super best. 

You get it.

You've been told a secret. The very best secret.  

The secret of having a son.

No story, I just really like this picture

Big Chucks, little Chucks.

Keep his little for a while longer, time. Please. 

Emails to Kyle

I'm writing Kyle an email every day this year and while sometimes I write Kyle three emails in one day and post-date them (DON'T YOU TELL ME THAT'S CHEATING), it's been one of the best decisions I've made. In a while. They're capturing funny things he's saying these days, quality time we're spending together, and also the times he's being so FOUR I can't think of anything else to say in the body of an email except GAH I NEED A DRINK AND YOU ARE STILL SCREAMING FROM TIME-OUT. If he chooses to have kids, he will totally understand those particular emails one day. 

Anyway, I thought I'd share a few here, every now and then. I don't know why. Maybe to just remember for myself since I try not to go into his account other than to keep it active. Here's tonight's...

***

I decided to write you an email every day for a year because I hoped a few of these emails would capture things we'll all sadly forget one day, a few would share funny stories, and the rest would give you a glimpse of what your life was like when you were four.

I also hoped that when you one day match your vague, fuzzy, just-forming memories of this time against these emails, you may get a better sense of who your mom is and was. I don't know how you'll see me in hindsight, or how your memories are creating me right now, and I wanted to give you just a little more of a record of this time.

I also wanted to give you a sense of the kid you are right now, the four year old you'll (unfortunately) never really know yourself. I would have loved to have known myself at four. I had great hair back then until your Aunt Rachel cut it all off. And I also had great Cabbage Patch Dolls and Care Bears and Pound Puppies that would likely sell for hundreds of dollars on eBay right now. (By the time you're reading this, maybe THOUSANDS.) I would love to have known myself at age four, true, but I would also love to pull myself aside and whisper SAVE THOSE TOYS. FOREVER. Even if that had been creepy for four-year-old me. 

Anyway, these emails are just trying to give you a little slice of you this year. The sweet, incredible, wonderful, blonde-headed, soulful, funny, four-year-old boy that I get to hang out with every day. He's something else, grown-up Kyle. Just as I'm sure you are right now.

I want you to know more about small Kyle, four-year-old Kyle, the Kyle who laughs so hard he stops breathing and also the Kyle that stomps his feet (JUST LIKE HIS FATHER) when it's bedtime. But at the same time, I can't wait to meet the Kyle reading this. I really can't. Do you still like to read? Color? Eat cinnamon toast and chicken fingers?

Do you still laugh as hard?

Man, I hope so.

Kyle's Fourth Birthday Party

I love birthdays, as you likely know, and I really love the birthdays of my boys. (And, yes, of Molly. We bought her a big piece of delicious cake last year and I know it was delicious because I ate it all. That was a good day.) (I totally thought I blogged about Molly's last birthday and intended to link to it but, nope, around her birthday I was blogging about Taylor Kitsch and Whole Foods smoothies. NO WONDER SHE SIDE-EYES ME SO OFTEN.) Anyway, what's tough about Kyle's birthday is that February is Texas' usually coldest but also most unpredictable weather month. One year, we reached insane freezing temperatures for like a solid week. (I really thought I blogged about that horrible icy week of terrible cold but nope. I'm apparently a poor excuse for a blogger.) This year, it was 68 degrees the day before his party. The day of his party, of course, it was cold and overcast and windy, and I was super grumpy about it. 

Like really fucking grumpy. 

I went to Target that morning to buy all the things I still needed to buy (and many things I didn't still need to buy) and just stomped around the store and tweeted about how grumpy I was and stomped some more and then comfort bought a pair of earrings. (This was after I had already comfort ate a donut from Kyle's donut cake.)

The party turned out a-okay--as these things just turn out, of course--especially in Kyle's adorable four-year-old eyes. He was happy the entire time and he ran around outside in the cold, with his friends (and even without a coat!), and laughed and laughed and laughed. And laughed.

(That bottom right picture is candy grabbing post-pinata breaking, in case you thought we encouraged a kid brawl or something.)

We chose a dinosaur theme--and by we, I completely mean me because I pushed the theme on Kyle like the overbearing, birthday-obsessed mom I unapologetically am--but it was still my favorite theme ever. (And, don't worry, Kyle really liked it too.)

We set up pools of sand on the porch for faux-fossil digs. I buried a bunch of tiny plastic dinosaurs in the sand and let the kids take home whatever they unearthed.

Mike drew dinosaur feet on the front walk with chalk. (I just have to quickly give a shout-out to Elizabeth, who I stole the party idea from last year, and when I asked her where she found her dinosaur feet, she said, "Oh, I drew them with chalk" and I immediately thought THIS IS WHY ELIZABETH NEEDS TO LIVE IN TEXAS. I could stress eat donuts and she could just calmly fix my party problems.)

One thing Kyle chose all on his very own was his donut cake. We went back and forth on his cake for a while and he finally said, "I want donuts with candles." At first I thought we'd just buy two donuts, stick four candles in them, and call it a day, but then I decided donuts sounded good for everyone. And they were good for everyone. I could use one of those donuts right now, truth be told.

It was a good day, and when I put Kyle to bed that night, he told me that he loved his party, that he had the best day, and while I still have memories of grumpily stomping around Target because of the stupid effing clouds, the bigger memories are the ones of Kyle grinning.

Kyle grinning trumps a whole lot. 

He's four! I still can't believe it.

Save Your Money

The other day, I was taking Kyle to school and I handed him the latest Scholastic book order form from school. I told him to pick out three books, and we'd buy them for him.

He was naming a whole bunch of books he wanted, way more than three, and I reminded him he needed to pick just three. 

"Ohhhhh, but I want all the books."

"I wish we could buy you all those books! We can only afford three, though."

I said it quickly, without really thinking, to be honest. I wanted him to choose, but it was also true. I wish we could buy a hundred books but, you know, THE ANNOYING MORTGAGE AND ALL. (The boy also refuses to update his resume and get himself a job. Freeloader.)

He got quiet for a few minutes and I assumed he was scanning the pages again to decide which three he wanted.

"I just need two books, Mommy. You can save the rest of the money."

He's going to become a surly teenager one day, only talking to me to request another $20, so I wanted to remember this moment. I wanted to remember when I thought to myself, "Ohhh, kid. Freeload as long as you want. In fact, let's save that money to get you a pony."

Four

Kyle is four years old today.

Ever since Kyle could walk, we've ingrained in his head that he must (EVEN IF I HAVE TO YELL VERY LOUDLY AT HIM) hold our hands in the street or in a parking lot. The yelling worked, because he does just that, reaches up for one of our hands whenever we hit the edge of a road.

Yesterday, after I picked Kyle up from school, he talked about the cupcakes he'll bring to his class today and about how good he listened to his teachers, and he grabbed his sweatshirt off his coat rack, all by himself, as he does, and it was all so simply how our lives are. Our lives, our routine, this is our normal. As we walked outside and reached the last step before the parking lot, he was talking up a storm ("Mommy, I have an idea, let's put a candle ON TOP of my ice cream tomorrow."), and he naturally reached up for my hand. Right before I took it, I just looked at him, this kid of mine, with his shaggy blonde hair and sunny smile, holding his hand up to me and I tried tried tried to remember it all. This one particular moment, this one particular boy, this one particular life. 

I never thought life could be this simple, this bright, this beautiful and, oh, I never thought I'd have such a perfect boy to reach up for my hand, to walk through parking lots and life with me.

I've wanted a lot in my day, but oh my goodness is Kyle a million times more than I ever thought I was worthy of wanting.

Happy fourth birthday, buds.

My oh my, do we love you to the moon and back. 

He's getting hard to fool

I usually let Kyle choose his bedtime book but if we're being straight here--and I like to think that's what we're usually being--I've been known to attempt to persuade him toward a shorter book if it's late or if I'm tired. (Or if reading the same long book a 15th night in a row, which can make me stabby.)

Tonight I persuaded him into a much shorter book than I realized and when I got to the end, Kyle looked at me, annoyed, and said, "Three pages? That's it? Well, that's pretty short."

He'll be four in February. And something has happened over the last few weeks. Something surprising and shocking and weird. He SEEMS like he's going to be four in two months. Okay, that's not actually all that surprising. That's just math. I know.

But, well. I was never very good at math. Math was always tough for me.