Happy Mother's Day

Mother's Day always reminds me of the year Tiny was born. She was due at the end of the month, so I hadn't thought much about Mother's Day - expectant mother seemed like a you-qualify-but-only-sort of technicality to me, and I was much more focused on that date at the bottom of my calendar. Then our girl arrived three and a half weeks ahead of schedule, making me a mother to a six day old baby on Mother's Day.

She's a tiny baby bird in my arms, swimming in her fanciest newborn-sized onesie (nearly all of which were too big for our six pound girl). We are happy and bleary eyed, because in that first week we both got up every single time she woke up (because we didn't yet know that sleeping in shifts was the secret to at least a moderate amount of rest).

Happy Mother's Day!

Wagon walking

It's been a busy and eventful few weeks here, and in the excitement I've forgotten to mention something very important that's happened in our house in the last few days: our boy is starting to walk. More specifically, he's started to push the little pink and red wagon his sister used to push around when she was learning to walk.

A truly tiny Tiny, May 7, 2010

Peanut's physical therapist has tried before to get him to push this wagon, and he's sat himself right down every time (or hovered his legs off the ground in a very clear display of not participating). She's a determined one, though, so we tried it again on Tuesday...and on Tuesday, May 7, 2013 he walked two and then three steps with that wagon.

Today is Saturday, and he can walk past our house and the neighbor's house, and probably further than that if he would quit stopping to dig in our neighbor's yard (I'm really sorry about that one patch in your hostas, neighbor).

I think that proud smile says more than I can about how exciting this is.

Surprise

When I asked Tiny what she wanted to do for her birthday, I wasn't expecting her to ask for a surprise party. I asked her if she knew what a surprise party was.

"Yes - you need to distract me and then bring me to the party place," she said.

We weren't sure her four and five year old friends would get the surprise party concept, so I talked her into a paint-your-own pottery party (partly because she likes to paint, and partly because that is what I would want to do for my birthday if I were in preschool). But the surprise party kept coming up, so we decided to plan a family surprise party. I ordered the ice cream cake she admired weeks ago while having a post-errand treat.

I took my mom and Peanut on a shopping trip that secretly included a stop to pick up one chocolate ice cream bumblebee cake, then parked around the corner at my in-laws' house to preserve the element of surprise. Tiny went on a father-daughter doughnut date, followed by a very scenic route to grandma and grandpa's house.

I'd say we pulled off the surprise, wouldn't you?

Four

Four came and went and the birthday girl reported it was fantastic, minus one outdoor dance-related skinned knee.

She was teary last night as I kissed her goodnight one last time as a three year old.

"I don't want to be four," she whispered. "I want to stay my same age." I promised her she'd be just the teeny tiniest bit older in the morning and still the same Tiny in every other way. She drifted off to sleep and woke up joyful, announcing, "Today is my birthday! I'm fou-ah! I'm getting dressed but my shirt is inside out and I can't fix it!"

She plucked two party hats from the counter on our way out the door for our ritual Saturday morning farmer's market trip - one for her, and one for brother. Peanut loves both hats and his big sister and he was pleased to don what he calls a happy hat. She proudly marched along, wondering aloud how everyone knew it was her birthday. She ate ice cream for breakfast, with a side of home fries, because if you can't eat ice cream for breakfast the day you turn four then when can you?

This afternoon she celebrated with six friends at a paint-your-own pottery studio, and tomorrow we're throwing her a family surprise party after many, many requests for a surprise party (each time with instructions that we are to distract her, then bring her to the party place).

At four, Tiny girl, you are our director, staging drama after drama and feeding us our lines. You have been opinionated from the day you were able to voice your preferences and you aren't afraid to strike out on your own. I hope that confidence and individual streak will stay with you no matter how big you get. You are funny and smart and stubborn and always ready to dance. You are a kind and patient big sister, my helper in the kitchen, and such a proud do-it-yourselfer. You've got one more year to go before you finally get to step on the kindergarten bus that has been your goal  for so long.

Happy birthday, Tiny - here's to four.

A sleep for my birthday

Once upon a time when we were newly married, my husband and I used to take date nights for granted. We had no responsibilities other than work and each other, so time for leisurely dinners and strolls through interesting towns weren't unusual. We cooked elaborate recipes, we did things spur of the moment, and we slept through the night on a regular basis.

Then we had a sweet baby girl, followed a few years later by an equally sweet baby boy. Date nights still happen, but now we are on the clock - what time did we tell the babysitter we'd be home? We have been away overnight just twice as parents, both times for weddings. Until yesterday, we hadn't spent a night away from home in more than two years.

I turn 35 this summer, and my mother has been asking me for birthday ideas for months. I said I'd like sleep - and while that's very much what I want, I said it mostly as a joke. Then my mom planned a trip here for Tiny's fourth birthday and announced she was sending us away for a night - pick a hotel, she said, and I'll watch the kids. Gift-wrapped sleep, if you will.

Yesterday afternoon we headed out on our own and checked into a charming B&B and then headed out for a stroll on a beautiful spring day. We stopped to look at interesting old buildings and photographed an old fire station three times. We went into shops and chatted without interruption and toasted with two late afternoon beers. We had a fantastic fancy dinner without having to keep an eye on the clock, and then we walked back to the inn and slept straight through the night. It was a rare and glorious treat and we enjoyed every minute of it.

This morning we were home at 8:30 because daddy had to be at work and mommy had birthday cupcakes to take to preschool, but last night we were free. It's good to be home (and to be reminded how good home really is) but getting away is good and a full night of sleep makes almost everything seem possible.

(Thanks, mom.)

Countdown

Tiny turns four on Saturday, and after months of dreading growing older she is finally ready for her birthday. For days now she has been telling us her birthday is tomorrow, tomorrow.

Tonight as I was drying her hair before bed she told me it was her last day being three.

"No, Friday is your last day to be three. Your birthday is Saturday," I reminded her.

"Being three is hard," my girl lamented. She's said this more than once in recent days, and so I asked her what part of being three is hard.

She thought for a minute. "Telephoning."

"Telephoning?" I asked. Yes. (Maybe she has a telemarketing job I don't know about?) And also not falling down, and playing with toys. I offered to put away all of our toys, but she assures me it will be much easier to play when she is four.

Five more days, little miss. And here's to hoping four is everything you're hoping it will be.

Ahoy, buddies

Tiny has been desperate to play with her brother since the day we brought him home from the hospital - she started laying toys on him and near him in the hopes of playing together.

Now that he's 15 months old, Peanut is ready to join in anything and everything big sister is doing, whether she's looking for company or not.

The problem is that their two year and eight month age difference amounts to a mountain of disagreement in what constitutes play. Tiny is forever creating intricate dramas for her dolls and other toys and can spend ages lining up blocks just so. Peanut, by contrast, is an exuberant wrecking ball, joyfully sweeping away his sister's carefully arranged dolls and tearing apart her Lego creations. They want to play together, but they're on such different levels right now it's really hard to find ways for them to play that don't: a) devolve into shrieking and/or tears or b) trigger head-butting. With summer fast approaching I've been on the hunt for ways for them to play together, and we've finally found at least one thing they can really enjoy together: a water table!

The pirate ship was clearly the most adorable model in the store, so home it went (and if you're looking to buy one of your own, I feel obligated to tell you that those legs are each attached with two huge screws and if you don't own an electric drill you need to be prepared for a lot of swearing and some sore thumbs). It was worth the pain of assembling it, because it's the first toy we've had that both kids love and enjoy equally. Even better, they're playing together - or at least playing at the same time in harmony.

Either way, I'll take it (and so will he).