It has been an emotional few days.  To say the least.  And I feel like I just wrote this yesterday.

It started with a letter from his teacher.  It was sweet and all, but nothing in it made me cry- it was just the sight of it.  The fact that I was opening a letter from his kindergarten teacher.  I had the same experience when I looked at the cafeteria menu.  The tension built on this night when we went to his Open House.  These were taken with my camera phone because I forgot my camera.  Thank goodness for technology or I might've missed these confused scowls and this balding parking lot.  Phew.

But the reason I took these are because of his backpack.  LOOK at that backpack on him.  That is nothing big or fancy, it's a standard sized backpack from Target.

He's the oldest in his class, and the smallest.  This is his fake smile at its best.

We had to clear up that he would not be teaching the class.  Just kidding.  He knew that.  He just liked the teacher's chair.  It gave him an ego trip.

This is his desk, front and center.  Actually, no.  Just center and center.  He is in the middle of the middle row.  Perfect for someone who has trouble paying attention and likes to make his own way.  I'm just saying.  If I knew a certain 5 year old who was like that.

His teacher told him his number should be easy to remember because it rhymed with his name.  He liked that.  He found that to be very thoughtful of her.

These are the frantic parents, desperately trying to figure out how to fit entire packs of pencils, markers, and crayons in one supply box as though they were being timed.

This is Shaun making a weird face and Jack laughing because Shaun's making a weird face.

This is what "Little Shaun" did.  That's a cookie in his hand.  He licked the icing out and handed us the rest- all done.  He did that with about 6 cookies.  What?  Who cares, it kept him quiet.

This is Madalyn on the way to get ice cream afterwards.  She is demonstrating how NOT to wear your seatbelt straps.  

So all was fine and we felt good about things.  Especially Evan.  He spent his weekend counting down the minutes until he would go.  This morning he woke up at about 5:45 and came in our room talking to himself, "today I get to go."  He was so excited reminding us of this that his whole body would clench and his voice would get shaky whenever he got to the name of his school... "today I get to go to..." shake, clench, voice cracks...      

It was funny to look back on my preschool post because he was excited about the playground then, and still excited about yet another new playground this morning.  This is what he looked like at about 7:20 this morning, when the whole family took him to school to walk him in and drop him off...

But let's back up a minute.  To last night, when I had a complete and total nervous breakdown.  And I didn't even see it comin'! 

I had had a nap Sunday afternoon, so I was wide awake when we were trying to fall asleep that night.  I feel sad.  I feel lonely.  I feel nostalgic.  Why can't I shake that feeling?  I said to Shaun.  I can usually pull myself out of the funk or ask Someone else to pull me out, but I can't seem to shake it.

Well, sending your firstborn to kindergarten is a big deal.

It hadn't even occurred to me that perhaps that was the trigger.  As soon as the sentence left his mouth, though, I was bawling.  Not tearing up, not sniffling, BAWLING. 

And that was the way I fell asleep; remembering that scene from Father of the Bride when he replays all his daughters milestones leading up to that day while Today I Met the Boy I'm Going to Marry serenades all his nostalgic emotions.  I mean, talk about NOT helping.  I was picturing his wedding day, I was re-living his birth and his toddlerhood.  I was a WRECK.  A complete and total MESS.  A mell of a hess, and seriously concerned about whether I would ever survive graduation... college... marriage... menopause... 

Because it's all about me.

Actually, that was what snapped me out of it this morning.  When I realized it wasn't about me and I was fixating on my emotions and not his. 

As I watched him in all his excitement, rush to his desk, go through his school supplies again, observe the other students and start following suit... I realized he would be just fine. 

Fake smile and all.

And if he was fine, I could be fine, too.

(Gosh, though.  I still can't look at these right here without tearing up again.) 

It's not that he's in school and I will miss him during the day, per say. 

It's that he's gotten SO BIG.  He is so big.

And he is so kind-hearted.  He is so naive and pure.  Not in a cheesy way, in a wholesome, refreshing way.  I know that sounds biased, but mother or not, I am insisting, he's just a good kid- a good person.  And I am better for knowing him.

So we left him, were the last parents in the room, (yes, my teacher-friends, we were those parents,) and went to a boo hoo brunch.  Then we said bye to daddy.  When we drove away from campus Madalyn said to me, "I'm sad, mommy.  I miss Evan."

"Me, too, baby," I said.

Then we pulled ourselves together and went to Target, where we ran into two other moms we had just seen.  Ahh, Target.  The meeting grounds for moms everywhere.  It's like the modern day choice prairie for hunting and gathering. 

Then we had Madalyn's preschool Open House- this is her in her spot at the table.

I can't believe I have to take her to Kindergarten next year!  AHHH.  One thing at a time.

This is her with Ms. Jan and Mrs. Larra.  Below is Mrs. Christine.  Jan and Christine were Evan's teachers last year and Larra is the director of the preschool.  I have come to really appreciate these people!  They have been true blessings. 

Evan told Madalyn earlier in the weekend, "Madalyn, you're really going to like Ms. Jan, you know why?  Because she has your favorite kind of hair.  It's light white and curly.  Like wavy.  Isn't that your favorite kind of hair?"

Madalyn nodded emphatically like she had certainly shared this preference with him before.

Now, Madalyn had seen them before, nearly every day when we picked up Evan.  She talked Mrs. Christine's EAR OFF.  Mrs. Christine was most charmed by her, and went out of her way to engage her.  She loved Madalyn's view on fashion and why she chose this particular outfit this particular day and all the things she was thinking about in that moment.  I'm sure they will enjoy each other this year, especially seeing as how the class dropped from like 12 students last year when Evan was in it, to FIVE this year, including Madalyn.  Which is awesome because they will get lots of one and one.  There are four girls- she knows them all from last year- and one boy.  Poor boy.

This is not him.  This is her first love (well, after her daddy and Evan and Jack.)  Meet Andrew.

I believe I wrote about him long ago, here.

Madalyn and Andrew have a special thing.  They get downright giddy and flirty around each other.  They dream about each other, actual dreams, yes.  And they have asked to go on dates.  Madalyn asked just this weekend, "Can I go to a restaurant sometime?  At night?  With Andrew?"  You should SEE the eyes she makes at this boy.  I am glad she picked a good one.  Yes, maybe we should be concerned... but his parents are golden, so instead we are taking pictures and planning their wedding slideshow.  Very appropriate of us, I think. 

Don't you just love what his shirt says?  HA!

So after she had a moment with the Big Man on Campus, we headed to Chuck E Cheese with her little girlfriends in her class.  It was really fun for her, and for me to get to know their moms better, even though I saw them all year last year.

Before we knew it we were headed back to get Evan.

When he got in the car he teased me and pretended like he wasn't going to tell me anything about his day.

But I already knew a little because we had arrived early enough to see him not come off the playground when his teacher called and she didn't notice and almost left him!  I bit my lip and waited to try and not interfere.  He finally realized and ran over to the gate and said, "hey!"  And she spun around and I could tell- felt terrible- KNOWING I was watching.  THEN she did a head count.  She won't make that mistake again.

Neither will Goofy Grin.  I hope.

So, when he finally quit teasing me, the first two things he told me- and everyone else who called him to chat about his day later that afternoon- were that his teacher almost left him on the playground, and that there was a girl in his class named, Charlie, and wasn't that ridiculous because that was a boys' name!

And then I tickle-tortured him till he told me more. 

And that was one therapeutic tickle session.  Boy, was I glad to see him.      

It was all pretty anti-climatic, though, as Hurricane Fey has put a big cancellation cloud over tomorrow.  It's like we're on a Monopoly board.  Stop, Go, stop! Can we just get these new changes going, already?  Because I think everyone is going to have a great year.

Labels: bittersweet, boys will be boys, dumbhead parenting, Evan, Madalyn, milestones, nostalgia, parenthood, parenting, pics, school, siblings

Doo, doo, doo, doodoo, doo, doo, doo-

Today was the first day I haven't worked in I think about, oh, a year and a half.  Yes, that sounds accurate.  And we made the most of it.  We were going to play with all our new bubble contraptions and swim but it rained and poured and looked like 8pm all day outside, so instead we switched gears and had a baking day.  We made Kentucky Butter Cake, Banana Bread, and Pimento Cheese.  I cooked more today than I have in... oh, about a year and a half. 

Yes, that sounds accurate.

I also did laundry.  And cleaned up pee.  And played Barbie Dolls. 

My mom found Madalyn a photographer Barbie, complete with three children, a camera, and backdrops.  So basically, I did work today.  Only I photographed 3 inch plastic babies with a fake 1/2 inch camera and there are no pictures to edit.

Shaun's boss is sick in the hospital and he has taken on a heavy workload which means late nights, so the kids and I had a light dinner followed by Kentucky Butter Cake. Then they performed a complete Cinderella production for me in the living room. Charlie and I sat on a pillow and clapped like it was the most impressive acting we'd ever seen.  (Well I clapped, and he gnawed at my hands thinking it was a game meant for him,) but even with the gnawing, it's nice to have the warmth of a dog in your lap, like sitting by a warm fire.  Makes a house a home.

Then we read books in bed while Charlie barked because he wanted to be ON the bed right there with us.  He couldn't believe we wouldn't include him in the reading of The Best Nest, (it's his favorite.)  And it was such a perfect little evening.  We were the perfect family for a few hours.  But soon it was time for lights out, for Evan to go to his own room to sleep... for all hell to break loose... 

He and Madalyn have been sleeping in her bed together ALL summer.  It's exciting, you know, like Christmas Eve.  Well, I didn't want them to get too used to it (lest they forget how to sleep alone,) so last night I said they needed to have a night in their own beds.  Evan got all genius-manipulative on me, (as you've heard me lament about before.)  He asked me if I wanted him to be happy or mad because my decision would dictate his behavior and I had the power to make him happy... to which I replied: I don't care what you are so long as you obey me. 

But he kept at it and cried himself to sleep.  (That was last night.)

Tonight it was the same song, second verse.  He was "crying himself to sleep" when I took the dog out for his nightly romp in the grass.  It was dark and misty (rainy day here, remember,) and it was kind of an eery night.  About the time this observation registered in my mind, a sharp finger poked me in the back like a knife.  I turned abruptly to see Evan standing there, ready to go at it again.

Come on buddy, les go!  BRING IT!  (My brain has to put on her boxing gloves and jump back and forth, right and left, to get warmed up for the fight ahead or else I lose all cool and resort to "because I said so," which, for the record, I find nothing wrong with, but I feel like I have to get these moments with him mastered now or else high school is going to be something freaky for us all.)  EX-HALE....

"You scared me!  What are you doing out of your bed?  You're in trouble."  (I'm very good at stating the obvious.)

"Do you want me to cry all night?  See, it's going to be like last night.  I told you.  You just need to let me go in Madalyn's room and I will be so good you won't believe it.  I'm scared.  I'm alone."

"No.  Absolutely not.  You are not the parent.  You do not set the rules.  You are trying to parent me and you are out of line."  (I am reminding myself of this just as much as him... a pep talk, an I think I can, I think I can parenting moment.)

"Fine!  That's it.  Fine, because you know what I'm gonna do,"  (stomping to his room in front of me,) "I'm just going to throw a penny in the wishing well and wish you were a kid."  I hate for it to come to this, but you leave me no other choice.

"That's fine, Evan," I said casually, and letting down my guard knowing I was now winning the battle.

"Fine?  Why is that fine?"

"Because wishing wells aren't real."

"They're not?  Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"What about the one at the mall with all the pennies."

"Not real.  Just pretend."

"It is?"

"Yep."

(BIG SIGH OF EXASPERATION.)

"Well, I will not go to bed nicely till you let me sleep in Madalyn's room."

"Well, then you will never sleep in Madalyn's room again."

"I won't?"

"No.  Not until you can go to bed by yourself, nicely."

"I think I am SO ANGRY."

"That's okay.  You can be angry, but you can't be disrespectful.  You can be angry, but you have to obey me."

And then I tucked him into bed, hugged his tear-stained face and body while he sobbed and tried to catch his breath like a defeated solider who had fought long and hard.

It's hard to be angry with him when I hear myself in the whole conversation, a rebellious child refusing to listen to her Father.  It's also hard to be mad when every time I think of the wishing well statement, I suppress a laugh.  I am smiling right now as I type this, and I was laughing at it when I sat down to write this post:  Fine!  That's it.  Fine, I'm just going to throw a penny in the wishing well and wish you were a kid.  Because that WOULD END THIS THING- AND YOU FORGOT ABOUT THE WISHING WELL- I WIN- HOO-AH!

And wouldn't that be nice, indeed?  There are certainly people I've encountered who I would love to wish away on a penny.  One in particular right now.  Where do we humans get SUCH a sense of entitlement?  Could you answer that for me? 

Just that one question... and I will be so good you won't believe it...

Labels: conversation, dumbhead parenting, Evan, parenthood, parenting, phases, siblings

These are old. (Obviously.) Just silly shots in their

Christmas pjs that make me laugh...

Jack makes me laugh in this one above. :)

I love Evan's protective hand around Jack in these shots...

and Jack's hand resting on both of their legs.

Labels: Christmas, pictures, siblings

Labels: Evan, parenting, school, siblings

Labels: animals, family, hubby, siblings

Labels: Jack, parenthood, siblings

Labels: family, kids, parenthood, siblings

Jack,

This morning you locked eyes with me from across the breakfast table and smacked a deliciously loud kiss my way. After my heart splintered with a loud crack, and the neighbor shouted timber, I thought, ‘That’s it. Today I write a post.’ So I’m diving in… one, two—

Eleven months now, and you’re such a delight. Your favorite activities are dancing, clapping, and climbing the stairs. It’s particularly hilarious to climb them while I’m making dinner. You take it nice and slow, peeking over your shoulder to see if I’m game and on the chase. You slow your pace mid-stairs so that I can catch up and we rupture into a fit of tickling fingers and belly laughs.

Your laugh is perfect. Absolutely authentic and perfect. Out of your gut it leaps. You have an intelligent sense of humor. You laugh at the sorts of things adults laugh at.

(Okay, well except when I let you free fall out of my arms. You laugh pretty hard at that, too, which isn’t- ur- intelligent...)

Words are a newer thing for you. You say da-da, and very infrequently mama, ba-ba (for bottle,) nigh-nigh, bye-bye (pronounced bah-bah, like a true Southerner), dance-dance, clap-clap, and Jack-Jack (dah-dah!).

Apparently, we only speak to you in doubles and you are going to have a very warped understanding of the English language in a few months. But here is the reason this happened: when someone is so cute it’s unbearable, well, it causes a person to stutter! So we really can’t be blamed for this problem, your dad and I. If only you weren't so darn cute!

There are actually a few words you say singularly. Words you picked up yourself. Hey is one of them. And this, “dis”, when you hold things out to show me. And sometimes that- “dat”. (A little of dis and dat.)

Your hair is getting blonder, and your body chubbier. I bite and gnaw on you all day long. Even your spit is sweet to me. (I realize you'll be thoroughly grossed out by the time you're old enough to read this, but it’s true, nonetheless.)

And right now, you think I’m perfect. I hung the moon as far as you know.

It was a heavenly reunion when I got back from the hospital after being away for three days during Madalyn’s surgery. I got you out of your bed at 8 o’clock after Honey had just put you down for the night. You were lying in your crib on your side, playing and babbling in the dark. You looked over your shoulder at the sound of my voice and smiled a smile that said, ‘hey, I remember you!’ I scooped you up with hungry arms and you sat in my lap while we visited with the family, looking back over your shoulder at me over and over with oodles of smiles and drool, double-checking that I was still around, was really home.

Let me take a tangent for a minute here to explain that the reason your smile is so unbearably precious right now is because you have six teeth to show. Your first one came in on March 1^st (I remember because it was your dad’s birthday,) and MAN are those little pearls to die for! (Also something to die by, as you kiss like a vampire with your mouth open wide.) It’s a kiss with a little “bite” in it. You plant your face in my shoulder to kiss me and somehow it ends with a chomp. It’s hard to receive that sort of kiss without tensing up a little, you know? Anyway, back to your milestones….

Another activity you’re thrilled with lately is the pool. You. Love. The pool. You want to live... in the pool. You need one of those ‘No Fear’ shirts with a picture of a pool on it. You watch Evan and Madalyn with wide eyes as they splash around and- party animal that you are- you want in.

You’re the same way about food. When you were still very little, you would hear a McDonald’s bag in the car and immediately cry until someone gave you something out of it. We started out with French fries because, (though high in saturated fat,) they were the softest thing in the happy meal for infant gums. But because of that repeated (and apparently demeaning) experience, you now consider a French fry the ultimate insult; something completely unsuitable for real people. And you’re not a newborn. You are- clearly- just as big as your siblings, HELLO?!

So now it goes like this: you want whatever anyone else has that you don’t. You want this, that, anything and everything. We put it on your tray, you eat it. And then you smack loudly to let us all know just how scrumptious each particular item is, and that it meets your full approval. Num, num, num, you hum as you shovel in the food with a flat hand squashed up against your face and over your eyes.

When you’re done, after a good variety of foods, and when you find yourself completely satisfied, you begin to massage the leftovers into the hair behind your ears. You rub, rub, rub… the nape of your neck… sometimes your face. You could seriously take a bath after every meal, but because this is highly impractical, I wring water over your head with a wet paper towel, leave your food-filled diaper in your seat and call it a wrap.

Your siblings laugh at you. They think you’re a clown. They chant “Jacky, Jacky!” excitedly when I tell them they can go wake you up. They like to play “the Jacky game.” This involves them getting in the swivel chair together and squealing as you crawl towards them, slapping your hands on the tile floor. You squeal, too, because- well they’re squealing. (And because it’s kind of cool that you already have these two older ones submitting to you.) Maybe daddy will make you a Technicolor dreamcoat and we can start calling you ”Joe.”

Evan has always enjoyed playing with you, but since he has been in school two days a week, Madalyn has now had time to form her own thing with her little brother. She finds you a bottle if she thinks you’re upset and brings it to you. She sings with you in the car. You’re the two that adore music of any kind. As soon as I turn on the Veggie Tales cd you start clapping and engaging her in song and dance. The two of you sing and clap all over the town in your carseats, facing each other.

When Aunt Shannon visited she taught you to sing with her. You also dance when familiar shows come on tv, to the Dora theme music, for example. Man, can you Salsa! Gotta tape that. You also boogie with our new Hokey Pokie Elmo. You get perched on one knee and clap the other with the palm of your hand while he sings. All you're missing when you do that is an oat straw sticking out of your mouth because you're already missing a few teeth.

You and Evan still have the brother bond going strong. He tried to make you a bottle once. I also caught him one morning Sumo wrestling you in your crib. He was landing square on top of you and you were cracking up… until you saw me watching. Then you turned on the waterworks and got all “wounded dove” on him. You might want to cut that out now because he IS bigger than you and when you're not so small and cute anymore there could be consequences.

Nicknames. Madalyn’s preferred name for you is “Jacky-boy.” For a while Evan called you Jackano or Jackado, but he hasn’t called you that in a while now. Sometimes we call you Jack-Jack (back to that double word thing,) and daddy has recently started calling you “Shark Bait” like Nemo. Uncle John calls you L.J. or Lil’ Jack from the movie “Meet the Fockers.” Much of the time you’re simply “Baby Jack,” though Evan has already said that when you’re big you’ll be a GranJack, too, like his GranJack. And then, admittedly, we can’t help but appreciate your name every season of 24, as we watch Jack Bauer do his thing. It’s a solid name. It fits you.

You’re strong, intense, independent… a survivor. I’ve found countless choking hazards in your dirty diapers; an entire blue balloon, a petrified worm, and something else I can’t remember right now…hmm…

I’ve also found plastic wrappers, coins, and Lite Brites in your mouth. Just this morning you crawled purposefully towards me with your lips pursed around a sharp pencil pointed straight out of your mouth. And then the whole world has heard about how you crawled to the top of the stairs at least a dozen times before the wide-enough baby gate arrived in the mail.

You’re almost walking but figure you crawl so fast, who needs it? You’ve taken about 4 or 5 steps on your own and will stand for long increments until you’re bored, plop down, and crawl off somewhere.

Neither your brother nor sister crawled that fast... or at all, for that matter. They went right to walking. But you swing your hips with your thighs and knees in a fixed position and fly like a little cartoon all over the house, collecting dirt on your knees to show the world how poorly mopped our floors are. However, you have recently taken to strolling a little pushcart around the house and I could sit and watch you throw those stiff legs in front of yourself all day.

So you crawl… and you pinch. You always have. You pinch with your grasp, and your sweaty little hands are some tools, let me tell you! You pinch my hair, my face, my legs, my clothes. Grasp, grasp, grasp. We’ve mentioned Madalyn has grip tape feet, well you have grip tape hands. I’d place money on you ending up like that incredible man on tv who can use his hands like a wrench to manipulate metal. I have no idea what that means about you. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, maybe it just is.

I can’t believe how you’re growing and I’m very sentimental it. My last baby.

A few months ago, a bread bag was enough to entertain you at the grocery store, but now you want a cookie like your brother and sister. Your little head swivels towards the bakery upon entering the store. You reach out your hand and take the cookie just as though you were taking a bottle at mealtime. You count on that cookie.

Yes, in just the past few months you’ve gone from being obsessed with the wipes bag and your tongue, to being obsessed with the stairs and the pool. You’ve gone from just starting to sit, to just starting to walk. How to conclude such precious months? Thank you? That’s the prominent emotion; gratitude. I thank your Creator that in keeping with the meaning of your name, you are a gift from God.

Love,

Mama

Labels: baby, Jack, siblings

Labels: conversation, dreams, Evan, Madalyn, siblings