So completely fudrucked out of their minds, running on empty, that the only thing that makes any sense to him, whatsoever, is to strip down entirely naked, be wrapped up in his sleeping bag (ZIPPED! ZIP IT UP RIGHT NOW!), and be spoon-fed applesauce in place of dinner?

You have to use your calm voice that sounds like really intense screaming at a whisper under your breath. The same voice you hear in the grocery store when a mom with a kid in her cart that will. not. sit. down. and she uses her serious voice to let them know they have just one more chance to make it out of that store alive.

And while you’re secretly sipping adult beverages on a beach where no one in the entire world can get ahold of you in your happy place, you’re dodging the scrambled eggs being thrown at your face and the applesauce being painted into your hair. On a good hair day. During it all you scoop and serve and smile. You pat his head and explain to him that although things look really calm, this is not acceptable behavior. And when he’s able to hold his shit together this conversation will continue.

He uses those baby blue eyes to look up at you, somehow manages to stop breathing fire and says “I love you, mom” and before the spell works on you – you agree! He’s done with dinner. You lift the entire apparatus up and out of his chair making sure you have a hold on his arms, not his legs or anything more sensitive, as you carry him up the stairs and begin the countdown to Battle Zone Bathroom: It’s time to brush his teeth.

Which you will do, damn it, even though tonight would be a perfectly acceptable evening not to – this has gotten personal: the toothbrush fight, and letting it slip one night will mean you start from ground fucking zero tomorrow – and ground zero? Is death-cab parenting.

Your calm/rage voice coaches him through his bathroom break and then without warning you stick that toothbrush IN HIS MOUTH, wriggle, and count to 10. Really fast. Wipe his mouth, his tears. DO YOUR HAPPY DANCE.

Pick that kid up, inside of that insane and completely impulse purchase of a sleeping bag (that you’re cursing right about now), and you lay him in his bed.

His cheeks are glistening from his emotional breakdown over To Zip or Not To Zip and he cannot remember how he got here – so you look down at him, kiss his forehead and whisper “I love your brave heart. I love your wonderful mind. I love your gentle hands. I love you, Oliver. Good night.” And you tip toe out of his room because somewhere between Brave and Wonderful – he fell asleep and the last thing he remembers is his mom tucking him in, singing his praises, and loving him to pieces.

Tomorrow we do it all again only this time? We’ll take naps.

It’s this:

Wake up before anyone else in the house, be really loud. Ask for SO MUCH FOOD RIGHT NOW, OMG I’M HUNGRY! Now a drink. More drinks. Even more drinks, cold ones. Big ones. Lots of water. Different glass!!!!

Blues Clues? More food. NOT THAT FOOD!! THE OTHER FOOD!

Ok Oliver it’s time to get our coats on and go to school.

BUT I DON’T LIKE COATS! WAAAAAAAAAAA!

Your coat hasn’t changed, it’s the same coat. It’s blue! You love this coat. Let’s put it on.

Weird noises that let me know he’s testing out Dinosaur voices but with a touch of Wolf … and it all means “NO WAY!”

(I put it on for him.)

Crying. Possibly a temper tantrum, most likely being punched in the boob.

Dude, not again. Not today. We’re going to be late. You may not hit me. You don’t hit girls. You’re allowed to use your words when you need something.

Grunts.

And we generally repeat this process over every decision for the rest of the day. It’s a little like walking around a land-mine. Which phrase is going to trip the trigger?

Maybe I didn’t notice this after bringing him home from the hospital with Jessica, I was sleep deprived and hormonal and trying to figure out how to show Jessica I loved her the same, if not more, while still meeting all the needs of this infant who screamed louder, ate more often and wanted to be held constantly.

The adjustment period.

And now … another adjustment period. Gone is my baby boy who wants to cuddle and kiss and tell me he “wuvs me” and in his place we have a defiant preschooler who knows the power of a decision. Of saying no. Of choice.

So many choices. All of the choices every where in the entire world, CHOICES! They are now on his radar, at his beck and call. And he wants the Superman socks today, not Batman thankyouverymuch. But the Superman socks are in the wash and the Batman are clean and the sun is shining but the sky is FALLING and where is his ki-ki? Duckie? Charlotte?

It’s a dance, training a boy (who is a preschooler) to become a man. To want honorable things, to BE honorable and DO honorable all the while battling the indecision with massive options of how to say Yes, No and Not Right Now. To teach him that saying “I need help” has more character than using his fists, even though his fists are super strong and could totally win.

To champion his wins just as much as we champion his falls, his losses and his defeats. Because in the scheme of learning how – they all matter. And today what matters most is that I was here to hear him need me. And I listened.

I’ll take the baby beating, the fist in my chest. The exhausting fight over shoes and getting out the door. I’ll take it, but not always with grace, and I’ll walk with him, not over him, while we arrive, together.

No, I’m talking about Boxers vs Briefs and Oliver is officially Team Boxers.

We shelpt all over the place looking for them in his size. Gap (not outlet stores) sells them in 4T … which is his size but they look like they’d fit a teenager. And boxer-briefs are not ok. He needed the real deal, like dad.

Turns out Walmart sells them in 2T-3T size … so I bought every package they had on the shelf. After the Gap ordeal (bought them, but they were too big) there were so many tears about underwear. So. Many. Tears.

You know what? Screw it. I’ve decided to pick my battles as a parent and this one didn’t matter. He wants boxers; he’s potty trained, not wetting the bed, still naps for me every day and is a happy guy. Done.

I also bought a new SD card for new camera and turns out that it didn’t go well.

As you can see I did finally got the photos off the card and we had a great time yesterday celebrating Jessica’s seventh birthday.

She got: money!, a skate board, a wallet, candy, blank shoes and fabric markers (she’s a fashion designer in her spare time), a puzzle, a joke book, some clothes, a sled for school and some accessories. I also hid 7 birthday cards around the house, her school locker, in her classroom and book-bag and in her gifts.

She plans on buying a Nintendo DSlite with her money, she’s been saving for one for more than a year now and she woke up early this morning to go in the basement and practice her skateboarding.

The mermaid cake was fun to do – I freehanded the shapes: there’s a mermaid, crab and a fish. We made a huge batch of white frosting, used sprinkles for the crab and fish then make a peach and a green for the mermaid. Licorice for hair, colored M&M’s for the tail, eyes and “shells”.

We served Tacos at her request but I also made these fish tacos, with tilapia, that were to die for. Mexican pop for the kids and Margarita’s for the adults.

A great night, indeed. I cannot believe I have a seven year old.

After being being referred to an ENT the next day, we met with him and after some discussing about possible options (everyone was telling us that he would need surgery to get the sticker out … as in, needing to be put under.) Aaron asked him if he could just “pull it out”.

So he tried. And it worked. And he cried. But! For only a minute, unlike the visit to the ER and the torture that it was. He’s back to normal and we’re back to asking him to take things out of his ear. (It’s an issue.)

I called the phone nurse this afternoon thinking we’d be told to give him some tylenol and wait it out a few days. There’s been some wheezing (increasingly worse) and today he started complaining about pain in his ear.

He has a history of ear infections and I just figured we were due for one about this time of year but because of the wheezing the phone nurse said we should have him looked at – only they didn’t have anything available for the next 48 hours. She suggested Prime Care but we literally live 4 blocks from our hospital … so I took him to the ER to see a doctor.

“There’s something blue in his ear”

Oh? Is that normal? Does that mean he has a really bad infection?

No, like an object. A sticker?

Oh. Well He does have a history of sticking things in his ears.

And sure enough – he let me take a peek. There it was, a sticker, shoved down his ear canal.

Turns out he has croup as well, confirmed by a chest x-ray. They tried too many times to get the sticker out of his ear and it was torture watching him bite his lip, tears streaming down his face repeating “I’m not brave! I’m not brave!” while they jerked around his tender ears for the sticker.

Needless to say – we were referred to the ENT and hopefully tomorrow they’ll have a gentler way of extracting the sticker.

After they were done fussing with his ear you’d never know he wasn’t feeling well expect that after a late dinner of eggs (his favorite) he fell asleep while Aaron was singing to him.

Sweetest boy ever.

Just try and convince me otherwise.

One of the items on my Life List is to throw a huge party for Aaron’s 30th, 40th, and 50th birthdays. Last year came and went with little to no fanfare and this year? I’m making good on my list. Except the “huge” part of this party is going to be a bunny hill and the bruises on our asses.

When it comes around to his 40th I’m pretty sure he’ll thank me for this because by then I’ll have teenagers and throwing a party will be EXACTLY what I need to do with my time. Throwback to “The O.C” anyone? Anyone?

This is the year of traditions methinks because this is the year I’ve started them. Or repeated them? We got the kids new jammies for story time with the animals at Great Wolf Lodge (slippers included), I baked cookies, we cut a tree down, my daughter decorates it while I string the lights and the boys go to the hardware store.

And last night – we celebrated “fancy” as my daughter would say. Then we broke off and took each kid shopping for the other before bed. A tradition I can’t wait to repeat.

Part of the hopeless-romantic side of me longs for habitual, sturdy and repetitive family memories because as a child there are few for me and as a mom I hope there are many.

SO – Happy Birthday Aaron! I love the way we dream together.

xoxo!

I woke up this morning with pain -but much less and hey! I could get my pants on as well as my socks and shoes without asking for Aaron’s help. He’s a trooper, that one.

We took our time getting ready this morning because you see, someone put new batteries in a toy that makes a tremendous amount of noise. So our son was happy to lay on the ground and watch the sirens make shadows on the rug and listen to the ringing in his ears.

When he’s tried of pushing buttons and awaiting imaginary battle he moves on to the keyboard – full blast, and plays the most beautiful and sad songs. He calls them “walking”.

Tap, tap. long-tap…………. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He’s growing up really fast and he’s much smarter than we usually give him credit for. He’s our baby, afterall. We kind of expect him to stay that way when really, he’s using complex conversation to try and ask us if we understand him.

We went to our favorite coffee shop this morning and before I was allowed out of the car he had to “check it”. So there he is, walking around our van with intent and “fixing things” and looking up to smile and make sure I was ok for a good 5 minutes.

Just taking care of me. Like a little man.

He wanted to go to the INSIDE PARK!!! so bad this morning so after coffee we ran a few errands, took a detour to a creek before it freezes and then headed to the inside park. Where he met some ladies.

And tried to impress said ladies.

He was a heartbreaker before all of this. Now? Forget about it.

THAT FACE! His personality … I am beyond bias about this kid, but come on.

Our daughter can be jealous of him because of the reaction he gets from other people while we’re out. His boots! His name! He’s so cute!

Not that she isn’t any of those things, she’s just older and we all know that the older the child the less appealing to the masses they really are. Babies are gold to curious public. It hurts some times because I understand the sadness in her eyes – trying to be happy for him or engaging in a conversation centered around everything but her. She’s incredibly strong and loving, gracious and caring because of this.

What our son has in obvious appeal, our daughter has in grace and heart.

She’s beautiful and shy and so smart. She’s witty but unsure of her comedy and although her timing is off, her purpose never is.

This post was going to be about how big he’s getting and how adorable it all is – which is all true. But most of what he does is a mirror of her any way. Her actions, facial expressions, her jokes.

I wonder if she gets that he’s cute because she’s amazing.

If he can impress a girl half as great as his sister then we’re going to be just fine.

My son is insane.

This morning, all before 8 am, I found him with my kitchen sheers, Aaron’s hunting knife and streaking the house.

I had many warnings to these antics when he was a baby but I never imagined the every day outcome. I am not surprised by anything.

A list of things I will have an Ambulance on-call for if he ever tries:

Paintball
The shooting range
Juggling
Riding something with 2 wheels and an engine
Skateboarding
Snowboarding
Anything with a knife

Who am I kidding? I should always have a Medical Expert on-call. Forget a nanny, we need a live in nurse.

He’s three so that means when he’s six it’s a different kind of danger right? Like the worse kind? Jumping out of windows.

It’s ridiculous how specific we have to be when we’re setting boundaries and rules in a house.

YOU MAY NOT OPEN THE WINDOW AND CLIMB OUT OF OR JUMP OFF ANY SURFACE THAT IS INSIDE.

YOU GET OUTSIDE BY GOING THROUGH THE FRONT OR BACK DOOR ONLY. WHEN IT’S OPENED.

YOUR PENIS IS NOT A SWORD. OR GUN. FORGET IT, IT’S NOT ANYTHING YOU’RE ALLOWED TO SHOOT WITH OR YEILD AS A WEAPON. PUT IT AWAY.

POTTY MOUTH MEANS WHEN YOU SPEAK DISRESPECTFULLY OR ABOUT BATHROOM HABITS. IT DOES NOT MEAN YOU MAY PUT POTTY IN YOUR MOUTH. (Yes I know, this is a conversation I regretted having.)

WHEN MOM OR DAD ASKS YOU TO “HOLD IT” WE MEAN PLEASE WAIT. NOT TO LITERALLY HOLD IT. GO WASH YOUR HANDS.

Someone add to this list – what else do you find yourself saying, explaining and clearing up that was never something you ever thought twice about? Until of course you brought home a male child.

Our kids are in my brother-in-law’s wedding this evening – super adorable fun, only until this past Monday I was positive the wedding was on Saturday. 24 hours makes a big difference.

Today I literally need to be in 3 places in the span of one hour – one of those places is actually an hour away. This doesn’t bode well for the 24 hours I just lost.

My blood sugar was “normal” this morning. A first in at least 12 months.

I am so confused.

How’d you like the video? I’ve been doing a lot of hiding lately (which we will discuss later) but decided I needed to just jump if I was ever going to swim again.

In wedding news: my son will be wearing a bow-tie and suspenders. Try and not fall in love him. I dare you. My daughter will be in a beautiful dress – all grown up looking and I will probably cry.

I’ve just owned it. I am that mom who will always fight letting go, knowing full well it’s the natural progression of life. I will always part with the lasts in their life with tears of joy for having them.