Seven

I can't believe it's already time to write another birthday post.  This year has flown by and yet at the same time, you're so different than the boy I wrote about last year.  You're so much more comfortable in your world.  You own your spirit and do what you want to do on your own time frame.  This can be fantastic, especially as I watch you among your friend finding what makes you happy and not worrying too much about what others are doing.  It can also be maddening when you refuse to listen to my requests or insist on finishing whatever you're doing before you can suddenly hear my "mom voice."

You continue to love to learn.  This delights me.  Your questions are constant and still unexpected.  I love seeing the world through your eyes as you work out the details by asking all of the whys and hows, and I puzzle over the things that you dwell on.  Right now it's the fact that your dad and I have both been stung by bees at some point in our lives.  I'm still being peppered with questions, seemingly out of nowhere, as you work through this in your head.  I'm not sure what answer will finally let you set this concept aside, but if the past is any indication, you'll get it and the questions will cease until another topic becomes a little obsession.

This year hasn't all been sweet and easy.  I've been treated to tantrums and meltdowns.  I've had glimpses of the lippy teen you're so likely to become (though I thought I'd have more time before that started!)  I've watched your relationship with Little Dog become both more sweet and more brutal as you two navigate the intricate communications between brothers with both words and, in my opinion too frequently, fists! At times I'm not sure you'll both survive, and if you don't kill each other, the constant butting of heads might push me over the edge.  But just when I think I've seen the last of my sweet child, you climb into my lap for a snuggle or tell me you need a hug or give me one of your "I ♥ mama" notes and I know you're still the gentle soul you've always been.

Sometimes I see so much of myself in you. Some simple, like your love of animals, especially dogs.  Some more challenging, like your quick frustration with the things that don't come easily to you, because so many things do. Other times you are your father in miniature.  Your gait, your expressions and your easy humor all remind me so much of him.  And even as you reflect both of us, there is so much of you that is all your own.  Unique, special and wonderfully complex.

You are gentle, but not meek.  You are bossy and hate to admit it.  And for a child who so readily adapts to change, you can be so reticent in some new situations while being so confident in others.  This summer stands out in my mind.  You dove right into the new daily routine with children you didn't know, made friends, loved the program and experience but were frightened to tears when Friday mornings rolled around and your days began in a different classroom.   I can't seem to understand what makes one environment so easy to conquer and another an insurmountable challenge.  Only you know, but I will continue to be there to help smooth those adjustments.
You continue to amaze and enchant me.  I'm so proud of you and most of all, I love you.
Happy birthday, Big Dog.

The sweetest thing

Since the boys were born, I've been singing to them on an almost nightly basis. While Big Dog likes to listen as he drifts off to sleep, Little Dog is a more active listener. He corrects me when I miss a lyric, makes requests for specific songs and sometimes, when I'm very lucky he sings back to me.
The other night, after asking me to sing "Dream a Little Dream" about 40 times, he told me he had a song to sing. And as it happened, I had my iPhone in my hand and was able to capture his sweet serenade in a voice memo.
If you can listen to this and your heart does not turn into a big puddle of goo, you should seek professional help.

Pockets

When I was in my early 20s I'd stick my hand in my pocket to find a collection of Muni transfers, change and Altoids. I was single, lived and worked in the city and spent my spare time (and money) out with my friend in bars or restaurants. The friends I made at this time in my life are like my extended family to this day.

When I was in my late 20s my pockets were filled with plastic baggies and dog treats. The Muni transfers were traded for car keys, the change was replaced with some small bills. Mr. Dog and I had moved in together and got a dog, then another. I'd started working in San Jose and had a hellish daily commute, but we were happy living in the Mission. Crazy in love, I'd found my partner and together we began our life together surrounded with our dogs

When I was in my early 30s I had pockets filled with pacifiers, baggies of wipes and plastic keys. Soon these were replaced with cheerios and a Mustella hydra-stick for soothing chapped cheeks. I was a new mom. I was frequently sleep deprived and a little bit worn, utterly besotted with my babies. The center of my world expanded to include these new people and they worked hard to break me in as a mother.

In my mid 30s my pockets again became my own. They are cluttered with receipts, a few dollars and a lipstick or two. My keys, wallet and cellphone frequently round out the cargo since I don't always carry a purse. My boys are bigger, they are more self contained. If they need to bring something with us, they can usually carry it. My pockets now carry the trappings of a working woman, the few things grabbed as I leave the house mixed with the remains of the previous day's activities. We are constantly in motion, buzzing with activity at all times. I know this is just the beginning as we rush from work to school to playdate to activity. And I wouldn't change it for the world. (Though I might occasionally slacken the pace...)

Occasionally, I stick my hand in my pocket and find a small car or a special rock gathered for a small boy's "rock collection." Though I am a mom of bigger boys, I am still a mom. I cannot go too far without a reminder from the boys.

What do you have in your coat pocket?

That's what it's all about

Being a mom is watching your child drift off to sleep as they snuggle in your arms.
Being a mom is nearly collapsing into bed at night, dead on your feet from the constant schedule of cooking, driving, working and general momness.

Being a mom is bringing your sick child into your bed to soothe their fever and calm their aches.
Being a mom is getting everything they get because they cough directly into your face all night long.

Being a mom is watching your child's face light up when you pick them up at the end of the day.
Being a mom is having to bail out of an important meeting because if you don't, daycare will start charging you for late pick up.

Being a mom is making that extra stop in their room on your way back to bed in the middle of the night to make sure they're still all tucked in and covered up.
Being a mom is stepping on every last freakin' Lego as you navigate your way through the house in the dark.

Being a mom is breathing in the absolutely one of a kind scent of your child's hair as they snuggle in your lap with their head just below your nose.
Being a mom is breathing in the scent of your child's lost lunch when they wake up just in time to be sick, but not in time to get to the bathroom.

Being a mom is listening your child voice their own thoughts and ideas with pride.
Being a mom is listening to your child repeat your most inappropriate comments in mixed company.

Being a mom is loving these crazy little people who have turned my life upside down, changed my priorities and fill my days with insanity and joy.
Being a mom is knowing at some point, if you're lucky, you'll see them have their own kids and get their payback.

Nice

I'm pretty good at complaining. Who am I kidding, I'm a world class complainer. When I feel the need to bitch, I'll bitch with the best of them. When people say "oh, I can't complain" I usually think they aren't really trying or they lack imagination. Over the past week, I've complained a lot. I've griped about the terrible timing of my injury, how I had to go and do this right before our long planned vacation. How only a buffoon like me could manage to tear up her knee swimming, I mean swimming is what they recommend for rehabbing bad knees for Christ's sake! I've complained that I'm uncomfortable. I've complained that I can't get up and do stuff for myself. I've complained that hopping into the bathroom made my iPhone jump out of my back pocket and into the toilet. If there is a complaint to be voiced, believe me I've voiced it. But I'm going to do something completely out of character now. As much as I like to complain, I've had some strong evidence lately that people don't suck. So I'm going to call some of those out now. Don't worry, I'm not going all Pollyanna Sunshine on you, this is a one time deal.

So, here I go:
When I went to the Emergency Room on Saturday, I did not have to wait to get a room. The nurse who took me to my bed made sure I had all of the pillows and supports I needed to be as comfortable as possible. He made sure the doctor got to me quickly so he could give me pain medication. He brought me magazines to read while I was waiting and checked back with me more than I think they usually do. I was impressed.

After being confined to my bed for two days a friend came by and brought me an ample supply of trashy magazines. She also brought chocolate and home made blackberry sorbet. She sat on my bed and talked to me, making me feel like a member of the real world again, not some crazy outcast on house arrest.

On Monday, when I got the the orthopedic surgeon's office, there had been a schedule mix up. Due to some appointment time shuffling my appointment was moved from one office to another office, several miles apart. I ended up going to the wrong place and having to turn around and go to the other office to be seen. Not only did the people involved take full responsibility for the mix up, they were sincerely apologetic about the inconvenience.

The orthopedic surgeon was a star. He continued to apologise about the appointment mix up, and didn't even make fun of my injury being swim related. I think he would have been well within his rights to have done so. When he gave me his initial diagnosis (that would be confirmed by the MRI) and I burst into tears, he listened sympathetically as I explained I had been harboring some slim sliver of hope that I'd be able to go on our planned vacation on Friday. He offered that I could go, and if surgery was required, that would be able to wait, but it was unlikely I'd feel any better. He never made me feel idiotic for the tears. He also promised he'd get me in for surgery this week if it was surgical so maybe I could just postpone the vacation slightly if that was what I wanted to do. He just really made me feel like he was on my side.

His office got my preauthorizations for both the MRI and surgery done in record time so I could get them both on the same day. Anyone who had dealt with Aetna knows this was no minor task. I think they only need two more miracles to become Catholic saints.

Yesterday after getting my diagnosis, the doctor fulfilled his promise to operate this week, but went even one step further to get me on his schedule that very afternoon. He had to shuffle a bit, but he did it and promised me I'd be up for the Peace Corps reunion in good working order. He actually cared about the commitments we might have had to miss. If you're in the market for a great orthopedic surgeon with an amazing bedside manner check our Dr. Watt at Seattle Orthopedic Center. The whole place kind of rocks.

We've had to postpone our vacation, and that means changing our plane tickets. Add even a modest change fee and ticket price increase and pretty quickly you're talking real money. So on an off chance, and mostly fueled with the "I'll try anything once" attitude that Vicodin can instill, I called the airline. I explained that I had to have surgery this week due to an injury and had to change my plans based on that. Would they be able to work with me at all on the ticket change fee? You know what they said? "Absolutely." I was more or less stunned silent, and if you knew how chatty Vicodin makes me, you'd think that was newsworthy. Turns out if I fax them my discharge papers or a note from my doctor, they'll credit me the change fee completely. And they were nice about it. No haggling, no stress, just, "fax it to this number, and I hope you feel better really soon. Take it easy, ok." Thank you Virgin America. You may have a new lifelong customer.

When I spent hours and hours complaining on Facebook friends came of the woodwork to say nice and encouraging things. People I work with were supportive in ways that co-workers aren't required to be and friends knew the right things to say to make me laugh at my own moronic injury. When I was worrying pre-surgery, the VP of my business unit even offered words to calm the crazy pre-op me.

Probably the saintliest of those I've encountered this week has been my husband. He has not once complained that I injured myself in a highly improbable circumstance. He has not balked at bringing me dinner in bed or wine. He has cleaned up my dishes and helped me put on my shoes. He's brought me medication, set me up with my laptop and phone and remote control so I can happily survive my confinement. He has played chauffeur to me and taken on the care and feeding of our children single handed. He has talked me out of my self pity and teased me out of my guilt. He has not complained once. He is amazing.

Anyhow, I'm impressed. Truly. I guess I can't hate people all that much after all. But I sure can complain. And I'll start again with that tomorrow.

I love you, but...

I do, I love being a mom. My kids are amazing little people. They're funny, smart and full of love. I like to read to them. I like to cook with them, play games with them, sing songs with them. I like being mommy. I love the snuggles, the hugs, the little-bit-too-wet kisses. I love seeing myself in the boys, and seeing Mr. Dog in the boys. And I love seeing the pieces of the boys that are completely their own.

They overwhelm me with emotion. I am left spinning, completely in awe of how altered my life is and how much I have changed from who I used to be. And even with that much change, I am equally impressed by how little I miss the way things were pre-kids.

Let me just say this...Boys, I love you. But mommy wants to watch Lost. Shhhhh.

"I not little anymore!"

"Do you know what today is?"  I asked Little Dog this morning.

"No," he replied.

"It's your birthday!"

"Really!" he said, eyes filled with excited surprise.

"Yes.  You're three!"

"Really?" he asked again with the same surprise and excitement filling his voice.

Later he came to me and announced, "I not little anymore!" his voice brimming with pride.  And it's true, you aren't little.  My baby has become a little boy.

Yes my little man, you are three.  So quickly.  Just three years ago I first met you face to face and was immediately charmed by those blue eyes.  I loved you from that very moment, probably even before. And in the following years I've loved watching you grow and change.  

You are clearly no longer a toddler. You are so coordinated and strong, there is no toddle left in you.  Your verbal skills are astounding.  When I see developmental emails saying my child should begin to string sentences of 5 or more words together, I laugh. You've been doing that for ages. Your sentences are complex, and filled with your preferences.  I never have to guess what you like or don't like. And if I don't understand you, it frustrates you to no end because you know what you need me to understand.

You are playful and creative.  You have continued to blossom as an artist, even if your favorite canvas is your own skin.  I just hope your love of marker on skin doesn't translate into full-body tattoos as an adult.  Possibly your love of drawing on the walls will translate to a career as a muralist, but let's try to minimize the impulse for the time being.

Where your brother was obsessed with trains, you are obsessed with super heroes.  You love Batman with a special passion.  I am amused by this to no end.  How many times have we been told not to call you by your name because you are some other cartoon legend.  Batman, the Flash, Green Lantern, SuperMan and the lot.  You even insisted on wearing your Batman mask to bed the first night you had it, awaking only to tell Poppa you had a Batman mask when he got home.

You are determined, you must do things for yourself, but you also love a cuddle and still demand to be carried.  Your kisses are sweet, sloppy and frequent, and I welcome them all.  Your hugs are full body snuggles that melt my heart. 

I love you, my little man.  Always have, always will.  Happy birthday!

So long toddler bed.

Little Dog is not so little anymore.  In fact, he's grown so big that he was ready to move from toddler bed to twin bed.  He may be ready, but something in me may not be.  I say this because taking apart the toddler bed on Saturday was actually an emotional experience for me.  I think it is another of those milestones you don't see coming, then when it hits, you're left reeling a bit.  In my mind, Little Dog is my baby, my tiny little one, and yet, he's not.  As much as I call him a baby, he's really more of a little boy, I can't even honestly call him a toddler anymore.  He can run, climb and jump with the best of them, no toddling happening here anymore.

So yesterday I took down the toddler bed and moved the twin bed into it's place. When he saw the new bed, he was excited.  He has a bed like Big Dog's and he was over the moon.  Being big means a lot to him.  Probably about as much as him being little means to me, so his happiness about balanced out my weepy mommy-ness.

At least when I looked in on him last night, all tucked into his new big boy bed, he looked, well,  tiny. So much more room to grow, so many more years of being my little boy.

I don't remember feeling this way about Big Dog moving into his big boy bed.  Is it just me, or do the milestones of the second child, potentially the last child, hit you just a little harder because there is no one waiting in the wings to let you live it one more time?  Or maybe it is because he never fully embraced his toddler bed and his transition was more out of our bed into his own bed.  A transition that I could much more easily embrace!

Either way, this sadness caught me completely unprepared.  What milestones took you by surprise?  What ones are you looking forward to?