Now she is 9

Earlier this year, my baby girl turned 9.

She is a force of nature. A force to be reckoned with. An unstoppable force pressing and pushing against an unmovable object. The eighth wonder of the world. She is headstrong, sensitive, unyielding and tender all in the span of an hour. Within the same day, I am the best mommy in the world and also [eye roll, hip cocked, head to the side, foot stomp] the single person most ruining her life. She is 9 going on 19.

There are days I am in awe of her and just as many days that I do. not. know. what to do with her.

At some point on the way to turning 9, she had a big growth spurt that stretched her legs to new lengths. This spring, when the weather started to turn warm, she pulled out her sporty shorts from last year -- the running shorts style, elastic waist with the unders built in. When they were new, they fit her fine, but now a year later, they barely cover her bum.

"Are those too small?" I ask when she tries them on. "Do you need new shorts?"

"No," she says, then pauses and looks down at herself. "Well, maybe."

So we head to Target, source of all things, to look for new running shorts. I point to shorts after shorts in the girls section, only to watch her shake her head at each adorable pair. She tells me she doesn't want the short kind, but instead is looking for the longer, basketball style shorts. You know, she tells me, like what Junius wears.

By now, I suppose I should expect the opposite of whatever I expected when it comes to Pippi. There's so much about her that I don't understand and can't predict. Often it seems she chooses the contrary answer just for sport.

"Why do you want to dress like your brother?" I ask, still somehow surprised.

She has her answer ready: "Because his shorts have pockets."

* * *

Growing up, I was an "outfit" kind of girl. I loved dressing up, for play and for real. There was no throwing on whatever was clean -- each night, I would plan my outfit for the next day. As soon as I turned 16, I got a job at the Limited Express (hello, late 80s) to support my shopping habit. I rarely wore jeans to school, owned very few t-shirts with writing on them. I was a lot of things, but sporty wasn't one of them.

When Pippi was born, once I recovered from the shock of having a girl, I reveled in all the adorable tiny outfits. Baby girls get so many fun options that just don't exist for baby boys. She was like the best dress-up doll I ever had. Once she was old enough to dress herself, she quickly exerted her own opinions over her wardrobe -- but the results were so spectacular that I couldn't say no. In fact, I bought even more colorful and patterned and sparkly pieces to give her better options to mix into her preschool fashionista fabulousness.

After she completed kindergarten, however, she drifted away from the adorable outfits and the layers of ruffles and accessories toward a daily uniform of sporty shorts and oversized t-shirts paired with Nike socks and running shoes. At first I pushed back, continued buying matching sets of patterned shirts and skirts or sweet, twirly dresses. Eventually I realized I was wasting my money and waging a losing battle.

One day, as I looked at her in all her sporty glory, it dawned on me that she was comfortable -- literally and emotionally -- just the way she was. Why was I trying to force her into the self-conscious fashion rules that still plague me? Did I really want to be the one to teach her to worry about how she looks?

I made a conscious decision to let go and let her be in charge of her wardrobe. We bought leggings and running shorts, no skirts or outfits. If it wasn't church or a special event, I stayed out of her closet. Which brings us back to buying sporty shorts at Target...

* * *

Pockets. She had me at pockets.

I might not understand wanting to wear basketball shorts and oversized t-shirts, but hell yeah I understand the desire for pockets. My favorite dresses, skirts, even pajama pants and one chambray tunic all have pockets. Compliment any woman on her dress and her first response, if it has pockets, will be to smile broadly and announce to you, "Thanks! It has pockets!" Through the magic of Twitter I recently learned of one woman who had pockets in her wedding dress, which almost made me want to get married again because that sounded so brilliant.

So off we went in search of basketball-style shorts with pockets, only to discover that those sons of bitches don't put pockets in girls' basketball shorts.

And that is how I found myself shopping with my daughter in the boys' section at Target, where she selected two pairs of knee-length shorts with pockets that look so exactly like her brother's shorts that I had to write her initials on the tags so that I know they're hers when they come through the wash.

* * *

When Hillary Clinton metaphorically broke the glass ceiling at last year's Democratic Convention and when Elizabeth Warren persisted in spite of those working to silence her and when women (and men) all over the world marched together this January, they were fighting for women on a very grand and global scale. I won't pretend that one trip to Target deserves the same significance.

But I'm more than a little proud of my fierce daughter who is not deterred by the fact that some clothing designer thinks girls don't need pockets or even by the fact that her mom wishes she would wear some of those pretty skirts shoved in the back of her dresser drawer. With any luck, she and I will continue to connect over clothes with pockets and maybe discover some other things along the way that will bind us closer together. I'm trying to remind myself to listen more and love better, even as she pushes me in ways I don't understand.

So, you be you, Pippilotta. Be patient with me. And I'll do my best to keep up.

And now he's eleven

My breath catches in my chest each time I look at this photo, taken earlier this year.

That's my son, who I've seen nearly every one of the past 4,015 days, but there's something about this picture that just stops me in my tracks. I realize the tuxedo -- rented for his junior cotillion ball -- is cheating a little, but it's his face more than his ensemble that really does me in.

Seems like every year I've written a post on or (ahem) around his birthday simultaneously celebrating and bemoaning the way he just keeps on growing up. In many ways, this year is no different. He's older than he was, younger than he will be -- and growing faster every day.

Over the past year, he started going to the pool on his own, spent his first week at sleep-away camp, competed on the swim team, played more hockey, joined the Battle of the Books, learned the fox trot, took his first out-of-state school field trip, got his own email address, taught himself to make chocolate cupcakes from scratch, graduated from elementary school, went kayak-beach camping with his dad.

And in August he will start middle school, an event which seems both thrilling and terrifying -- at least to me.

There are so many things, both big and small, that I cannot protect him from. The world around us seems like it's going to hell in a hand basket -- so much fear, anger and ugliness that I cannot explain and feel powerless to stop.

Maybe that's part of what I love about this picture. In his sweet, handsome face, I see both the baby he was and the man he will be -- and in that, I see hope.

In this particular moment, I'm not even exactly sure what that means. He's still just a kid who forgets to put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, purposefully torments his sister for sport and has started having tween-age mood swings that threaten to undo me. But when he's not occasionally sulking in a corner for no apparent reason, he's a really nice guy with a creative mind, a big heart and a fierce sense of justice. That all seems like a good start.

Plus he looks great in a tux.

Ten

"Bye, Mom! See ya!"

And just like that, he pedaled down the driveway and into the street, his drawstring pool bag bouncing on his back as he pumped his legs to catch up with his friend.

I tried to act cool, like it was totally fine that he didn't need me. At all. And I immediately regretted telling him that he didn't have to call me when he got to the pool. I may or may not have texted a friend just now to let me know if she was there and could see him.

Ten.

Who knew it would be so big?

Already, in his first three weeks of double digits, Junius has spent a week at sleep-away camp, filled his own Spotify account with Pitbull and Bruno Mars, and started going to the neighborhood pool by himself. He makes his own breakfast and lunch almost every day. He searches the young adult shelves at the library and calls his own friends to make plans to play. He occasionally employs Axe deodorant to combat the inevitable pre-teen boy smell.

Someone please hold me.

Walking away from him at summer camp earlier this month nearly broke me. But I survived -- and, more importantly, he thrived. He made friends, ate new foods, learned to sail, spent the night on the dock, earned a new nickname, did the whip/nae nae (how is that even a thing?). He claims to have mailed me the self-addressed, pre-stamped post card I put in his bag, but it never arrived. The other cards were still packed when he got home because he was too busy having fun to worry about them.

At age 10, he is already stronger and braver than I was at 27.

In spite of all his grown-up-ness, he still snuggles with me occasionally, tells me he loves me, lets me rub my hand across his fuzzy buzz cut, asks for us to read to him at bedtime. I try to remember to enjoy these moments instead of losing them in life's distractions.

A friend recently pointed out that I have eight more summers with him before he leaves for college. That statement sent my heart plummeting into my shoes and my brain scrambling to make plans for every one of those summers so he'll spend them all with me.

But then I remind myself that's what it's all about. Watching him grow and change and yes, even leave me behind -- that's why we're working so hard at this crazy parenting business. It's a gift to see him moving away from me, one bike ride and camp drop-off at a time.

While I was writing, my phone just rang. It was Junius, calling to let me know he's heading home from the pool.

He really does love me.

_______________________

In case you want to join me down memory lane, here are links to past birthday posts about the boy:

• Nine: The Last Single-Digit Year
• Eight: A Champion Boy
• Seven: How Big Is 7?
• Six: Mr. Big Stuff
• Five: Things I've Saved
• Four: Junius Fest 2009
• Zero: The Official Announcement

J-Fest 2014: The Last Single Digit Year

Dear Junius --

Technically it's still your birth month for a couple more hours, so I'm going to just call this a victory. If you're reading this years later and you don't remember, I promise we didn't miss your actual 9th birthday -- I just missed writing about you on the day, that's all.

When you were younger, I remember thinking that I'd have so much more time to write once you and your sister were older and in school. That's just one item on a long list of things I've been wrong about when it comes to parenting.

I'd like to claim that the reason I haven't written a whole series of posts about you and your birthday this month is because I've been so busy spending time with you and treasuring the fantastic little man that you're becoming. But the truth is that I've been overwhelmed doing pretty much the opposite of that -- ignoring you in order to squeeze in more than my scheduled hours at work and then collapsing on the couch when we are finally home together again.

It hasn't been the July I was hoping for.

We are both first borns, you and I. Not just any old first borns either -- we are textbook cases. We want everything to be fair and everyone to love us. We want the whole world to be happy and we want at least partial credit for making it that way. We want to know the plan in advance. And sometimes we just want to be home where we can control the little space in our own rooms because everywhere else is too crazy. I watch you crumble sometimes as you wrestle with reality and I ache for you. It is all painfully familiar.

But there are some things you've already figured out that took me much longer to discover. Even when you'd rather stay safe at home, you put on a brave face and walk into spaces where you know no one in hopes that it might be worthwhile. You volunteer to be the first to fight Darth Vader, or skate onto center ice and fist bump NHL players before the national anthem. You're developing a tough side that you can hold together for at least a few minutes. You attract friends among strangers easily. It is all quite impressive.

This crazy July, in between the billable hours, I have managed to teach you a few things that seemed worth passing on. You're now hooked on solitaire, a perfect game for the kid who likes rules and fairness. You've discovered the power of the pointy elbow, that family trait useful for boxing out and pushing through. You can fry an egg and cook chicken nuggets, which gets you two of your favorite meals. And you've learned to keep a book in your bag at all times, just in case you've got 15 minutes to spend reading while you wait.

I am hopeful that we will find times to slow down and appreciate your being 9 this year. Your next birthday brings double-digits and I don't expect I'll handle it well.

But I worry that life is going to get in my way, so I'm asking for your help. Maybe now and then you could remind me to say yes when you ask me to play horse or Monopoly. Maybe sometimes you could let me skip Monopoly and play solitaire at the kitchen counter while I make dinner. And maybe some days you'll just tuck in beside me on the couch when that's all I've got left.

I love you, my firstborn. Thanks for being patient with me.
- Mommy

Good Sport

For a woman who never played organized sports growing up – unless you count driveway kickball, which wasn’t really all that organized but was highly competitive – I’ve made a real commitment to team athletics for my kids. Like many suburban moms, I drive them to and from practices, bring snacks, cheer for everyone and spend large chunks of my life sitting on bleachers in conditions that are often too cold or too hot to be pleasant.

While it’s nice to imagine that they might turn out to be college-scholarship athletes, I’m not overly concerned that they excel at the sports they play. As hokey as it sounds, I really just want them to learn how to be a good teammate, engage in healthy exercise, develop a few leadership skills, and have a lot of fun.

It’s more important to me that they learn how to be good sports than to be good at sports.

In his most recent basketball season, Junius and his team had a perfect record – they managed to go eight straight games without winning a single one. Coming off an undefeated season with his hockey team, I worried that he might lose interest in basketball – or at least in his teammates – given their apparent lack of success.

During the final game last month, Junius scored a personal best 14 points. But the game highlight occurred when the ball wasn’t even in play.

As he followed his team back into the gym after halftime, Junius ran in front of his team’s bench, launched into a halfway decent cartwheel and burst out laughing as he bounced down next to the other boys.

When I asked him after the game why he did the cartwheel – an unusually showy move for him – he replied simply, “I wanted to rally my team, mom!”

That cartwheel rally didn’t affect the game’s outcome, but it made an otherwise losing season worth every butt-numbing minute in the stands.

J-Fest 2013: A Champion Boy

"He's a champion baby, Cyndi."

That's the first thing I remember my husband telling me about our newborn son after I regained consciousness following the c-section. Once he persuaded me that I wasn't actually dead, that proud new papa talked a blue streak about our sweet baby boy to bring me back to my now-expanded family.

"You should see his hands! He's amazing. Just a champion baby." He said it like I'd had some control over how this tiny baby had turned out, like we had really accomplished something.

And considering that we had just made an actual, real-live person, I guess we really did accomplish something.

Eight years later, that champion baby has turned into a champion boy. Eight.

It's a funny age -- too big to be little, yet still too little to be big. Some days, I think even he doesn't know which direction he wants to lean. And I'm not so sure either.

I love so many quirky things about the Junius who is temporarily trapped between infant and teen...

...that he says "funiture" and "tooken," but can explain the difference between a slapshot, a snapshot and a wrister.

...that he wants me to read to him at night, even though he can read whole chapter books on his own.

...that he asks to snuggle with me on the couch, even though he's so big I can barely pick him up anymore.

...that he cracks up at the poop jokes on Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me, even though he doesn't understand the news context of most of the show.

..that he sleeps with Baby and Blanket tucked close beside him in bed, even though he leaves them at home when he sleeps over at a friend's house.

...that he asks me about my day sometimes, but mostly just wants to know if my favorite part of the day involved him.

In another eight years, he will ask to borrow the car and I will wonder where the time has gone. He'll probably know how to conjugate the verb "to take" by then and he likely won't be clutching a small, white teddy bear in his sleep. But with any luck, he'll still want to curl up on the couch with me and read a book or just talk about the day. And I'll try in vain to resist the urge to tell him he's still my champion baby.

Happy birthday, Junebug. I love you.

Eye of the Beholder

Throughout my life, my mom has always told me that I'm pretty. That's a great thing for a girl's ego -- except that often my mother does it in the context of disparaging herself at the same time.

"I wish my hair were shiny and beautiful like yours -- mine is so gray and flat now."

"You have such a nice figure -- I can't wear dresses like that anymore."

"Your teeth are so straight and white -- I've always hated my teeth."

The truth is that my mom is pretty -- and I look a lot like her, so it must be true. She's also 28 years older than I am, so I have a bit of an advantage.

Her habit of putting herself down while simultaneously lifting me up always makes me self-conscious. It's not a competition, I want to tell her. We are always our own worst critics (see the latest from Dove's "Real Beauty" campaign for more on that one). We're both getting older and changing, but I like to believe that neither one of us looks our age.

Then I look at Pippi. And suddenly I see what my mom sees when she looks at me. She's perfect and gorgeous and way more amazing than I am -- but unlike me, she has always looked more like her dad than her mom.

Until today.

This afternoon, Pippi and I went to our favorite salon so that she could get a summer haircut and donate her beautiful, shiny, sun-streaked ponytail to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. As Stephanie snipped and trimmed a sassy little bob and Pippi winked and grinned at herself in the mirror, I watched my long-haired daughter start to look just a little like me for the first time.

Looking at her wearing my haircut -- and grinning from ear to ear -- made my heart melt just a little. When I texted pictures to my husband so he could see the new do, he texted back, "Beautiful! She looks like you now ;)" -- and that made me melt just a little bit more.

It's a funny thing about motherhood, how each stage makes me understand something about my own mother. I'm starting to get it, what she sees when she looks at me. When I look at Pippi, I know she's prettier than I am -- the difference is that she's already got such a big head (literally and figuratively), that I'll be keeping that opinion to myself.

Click here to see the 1977 photo of my mom and me in our matching (Dorothy Hamill) haircuts, along with photos of Pippi's first haircut.

Pippipalooza: Signs of a Big Girl

"I am five."

That's Pippi's new greeting -- she doesn't say hello anymore, just thrusts out her hand with fingers spread and proclaims her age as if it's the most important thing you need to know about her. Which, clearly, it is.

She's also been doing the things she's supposed to do -- occasionally -- and then announcing them with a knowing nod. "Look, Mommy. I'm brushing my hair without being asked. Because that's what five year olds do."

It's all a little comical, this notion that last month she was a baby and NOW she is a Big Girl. But it's also kind of true.

Here are five signs that she really is so very big:

1. Ice skating: She can now skate without holding onto a chair or a grown-up. It's not exactly speedy or graceful, but she can shuffle along on her own. This is a big deal when your older brother is a hockey player.

2. Dentist chair: At her recent dental check-up, she climbed right into the chair and leaned back without assistance -- no flinching, no complaining, no worries. At the previous visit, I had to lie on the chair with her stretched out on top of me during the whole exam and cleaning. I like this version much better.

3. New bike: She's still using the training wheels (although probably not for long), but her new big girl bike is the same size as her brother's. It's also purple (to match her new helmet) and has spinney glittery spectacularness on the handle bars. It makes her legs look oh-so long.

4. Bed decor: We still haven't totally finished decorating her nursery-turned-big-girl room yet (hence all the sketches taped all over her walls), but she actually has a duvet cover on her comforter now. It's grown-up Garnet Hill and beautiful. Thankfully, she still looks small all tucked in under it.

5. Potty: Now she's so big that she wants to use the bathroom alone. (Note that this does not translate into letting ME use the potty alone when we are at home.) I'm still jittery about allowing it in most public places, but now and then I try to give her a little privacy. Obviously, I'm not willing to go very far yet.

 Sigh. The days are long, but the years go by at the speed of light.

Pippipalooza: Things She Loves to Do

Somehow Pippipalooza 2013 came and went already, without a peep here at the blog. My baby girl turned five -- or as she says, "a WHOLE hand" -- at the end of February. In true Convertible Life style, we celebrated the day for a full week. Between the festivities and the rest of life, the blog just couldn't keep up.

But even though Pippi is a second child (or perhaps because of it), I'm trying to be sure she doesn't get slighted (too much). So today is the start of a belated "Five Days of Pippipalooza" blog posts... beginning with five things she loves to do.

It's not exactly news that Pippi has strong opinions. Can't imagine where she got that from (ahem). Sometimes that can be frustrating (to put it mildly), but sometimes it's just fun to watch. Here are five of her favorite activities:

1. Holding babies. I'm not sure if it's some sort of innate female baby-holding urge or just that it makes her feel big and superior, but she loves to sit on the couch and hold a baby. And by that, I mean a real live actual baby -- preferably one who is sleeping. Her current favorite arrived in November, so I'm not sure how much longer she'll be able to wrangle him -- but she sure does love him.
2. Sleeping with her hair in braids. As someone without a single curly hair gene anywhere in her family tree, Pippi is destined to have stick-straight hair. With any luck, she won't have to endure the 80s perms like her mama did. But I still understand the desire for curls. So now and then, I braid her hair into about a dozen little twists at bedtime so that she can wake up to fancy.
3. Coloring with "permanent markers." I do not know who told her about the difference between permanent markers and washable markers. All I know is that she understands the distinction and has determined that permanent markers -- especially Sharpies -- are infinitely superior. For Christmas this year, we gave her a roll of tape and let her  use it however she wanted (which translated to about four dozen original pieces of Pippi art being taped to the walls in her room in whatever places she could climb up and reach). Too bad for her that I'm unlikely to give her similar free reign with a set of Sharpies.
4. Dressing herself. The lack of recent activity on the I Dressed Myself blog is in no way reflective of a lack of self-dressing on Pippi's part. She continues to prefer spring and summer outfits, which I can't really blame her for (as those are my favorites, too) but which are really inappropriate when it's 35 degrees outside. She also loves layering shirts and skirts or pairing leopard print leggings -- and of course, her pink cowgirl boots -- with just about anything.
5. Dancing and singing. By far, dancing and singing are both her favorite things to do and my most favorite things to observe. Sometimes the singing gets a little out of control -- both in volume (so loud and high) and in quality (so many lyrics involving bottoms and what comes out of them). But Pippi has a gift for creating musical medleys to narrate her day or adding her own choreography to songs -- and sometimes both at the same time ("Call Me Maybe" anyone?). 

And now a little party favor for you, courtesy of Pippi herself...

J-Fest 2012: How Big is 7?

A few months ago, we were looking at baby pictures of our kids with our kids -- a little trip down online memory lane, telling them stories to go along with the photographs -- when Junius suddenly burst into tears.

"I still want to be a baby," he sobbed. "I don't want to be big anymore."

The big cracking sound that followed was the sound of my heart breaking -- both for him, that he would be so sad about turning into such a wonderful big kid, and for me, because sometimes I wish he were still a baby too.

Since that night, we've been a little more careful to point out the advantages of being big (better food, the ability to read, not having to sit in poo). We've also tried to censor ourselves before we say things like "how did you get so tall?" or "don't grow up too fast!"

The truth is that watching your child grow up is about the craziest science experiment you can witness. When he's just a baby, no matter what Anne Lamott or Einstein might say, it's hard to imagine what he'll be like when he's 7, much less 17.

So for those of you who want to know what 7 (and parts of 6) look like, here's what Junius is doing that's different now from a year ago:

1. The hand-holding days are mostly over. While this is somewhat practical -- it's easier for me to keep a handle on the Pip now that Junius can navigate parking lots and sidewalks on his own -- it still makes me incredibly sad. I love the loose-but-safe feeling of his little hand in mine, but now he just slips free nearly every time I try.
2. Baby is optional -- and by Baby, I mean the small, white bear that he's slept with every night for the past six years and who he used to fake nurse when I was feeding Pippi. You can throw Blanket (with a capital B) in the same category. He still keeps Baby and Blanket in his bed and takes them on car trips -- but when I suggested he might want to put them in his bag for last weekend's sleepover birthday party at a friend's house, he looked at me incredulously and said, "No way, mom. That's for babies." And he slept just fine without them. And he stayed up until midnight playing at the party. Midnight.
3. High dives are there to be conquered. Last week while visiting my parents, Junius decided to go off the high dive -- as in, climb the ladder 10+ feet in the air, stroll to the end of the diving board, jump off without hesitation, smack straight into a huge belly-flop (at which point I stifled a scream and raced walked calmly over to the edge of the pool), swim to the side and climb out like nothing had happened. Of course, about 5 minutes later, the cherry ice he'd eaten before the jump came right back up and landed on my foot. But other than that, the kid was unphased. I am still recovering.
4. He can bargain with the Tooth Fairy. When he lost his front tooth earlier this month, he placed it under his pillow with a note that read, "May I have 5$ [sic] please?" He wrote this because a fifth-grader at his school said he'd asked for $10 and only got $5, so Junius interpreted that to be the Tooth Fairy's limit. And because he asked so politely, the Tooth Fairy totally fell for it.
5. Seven hundred eighty-three pieces are not too many. He pooled the money he got for his birthday (including a "paycheck," as he called it, from his grandparents) and purchased the 783-piece LEGO police station. Then he proceeded to build the entire thing in less than a day with very limited assistance. Seven hundred eighty-three.

I realize that those of you with 10-year-olds or (gasp) teen-agers, this list sounds like small potatoes. But for those of you wondering when your kid will finally be old enough to wipe his own bottom? Just look at all the excitement still ahead!

Now I'm going to go work up a little cry over some baby photos while Junius is asleep...

J-Fest 2012: Blog Post Retrospective

The ol' blog has suffered some in the past year -- every week seems busier than the last, with less and less time for writing. And sadly (at least for me and my interest in actually sitting still and posting), Junius's birthday week has been no exception.

Crazy when real life gets in the way of writing about my real life, huh?

So while I work on getting a few more J posts together, here are some of my favorites from his year of being 6:

• Jan. 17, 2012: Watching Him Go
  Because I'm not sure I'll ever get used to watching him walk away from me, even though that's just what he's been doing since he learned to hold up his own head.
• Dec. 5, 2011: Showing Your Work
  Because my boy is a (qualitative) genius. 
• Nov. 14, 2011: Sign of Fall
  Because he's just so flippin' happy.
• Nov. 3, 2011: A Warning about Halloween Masks
  Because I'm so glad his face isn't frozen like that.
• Aug. 4, 2011: Big Teeth
  Because he might actually be a shark.

J-Fest 2012: Every Age He Ever Was

This is what happens when you blink:

That's my Junius -- from day one to yesterday, when he turned seven. When I look at that progression, it kind of makes my heart ache in ways I don't completely understand.

So instead of trying to find my own words, I'll give you Anne Lamott's instead. I read her Operating Instructions in the final days of my pregnancy and the early days of Juni's newborn chaos -- clutching and grasping at the story of her son's first year, relieved to know I was not alone and that it just might turn out to be worth it. 

Now Lamott's son, Sam, has become a father and together they've written a new book about her grandson's first year. His name is Jax -- he's unplanned, but welcomed with love. In Some Assembly Required, here's how Anne describes watching Sam hold Jax:

"My wild son, who like most boys smashed and bashed his way through childhood, with branches and bats and wooden swords, who shut down and pulled so far away as a teenager that sometimes I could not find him, now taking tender care of his own newborn, a miniature who is both unique and reflective. Sam is still every age he ever was, from the fetus to the infant to the adolescent to the father. And Einstein would probably say that Jax is already every age he will ever be, but in such super-slow motion relative to our limited perspective that we can't see the full spiral of him yet, only this tan bundle of perfect infanthood with a blue butt."

That's what happens when I look at Junius. I see the wiggly fetus and the snuggly baby and the chunky toddler and the smiley preschooler that he once was. And when the light is just right, I get a glimpse of the gangly teen and even the handsome man he will be.


And it just about melts my heart.

Pippipalooza 2012: Blog Post Retrospective

Much to Pippi's chagrin, Pippipalooza 2012 has finally come to a close. She has delivered most of the party thank you notes, played with all of the presents and announced to every man, woman and child within a 10 mile radius that "and also? I am Four."

So I'll close out this year's festivities with a fun photo and a fave five list. The picture is her fancy hairdo that set a new household record -- that's eight rubber bands on one round head. We were proud.

And here are five of my favorite posts that helped to capture her year of being three:

1. Pippi's Morning Mani-Pedi: Nothing beats having an awesome daddy. Especially one who isn't afraid of nail polish.
2. Can Quiet Time Actually Include Some Quiet?: Pippi refuses to nap, then passes out on the stairs (the first time).
3. Late Night Adventures in Parenting: Pippi wakes me in the middle of the night saying, "Mommy, there's gooey on my finger." This can't be good.
4. When Fashion Happens: Pippi dresses herself with hilarious results. I start a new blog. Of course.
5. Name Dropping: Pippi tells me about her new friend. His name is B.B. King.

Catch up on Pippipalooza 2012:

- It's On

- Preschool Musical
- Such a Big Girl
- The Party Plan
- Behind the Party Scenes

Pippipalooza 2012: Such a Big Girl

Pippi is growing up even faster than Junius did -- the blessing and curse of a second baby, I guess. One minute she looks like a toddler, the next minute more like a 10-year-old.

But there are a few baby-ish things I'm clinging to. I just hope she'll let me for a little while longer.

1. Nighttime snuggling: Pippi is fully potty-trained now, even at night. But we cheat a little by taking her (mostly asleep) to pee before we go to bed. When I carry her back to her room, I stand by the bed and snuggle with her for a minute or two. It's not quite the same, as her legs are dangling down for what seems like miles -- but it's still a small reminder of when she was a baby and still snuggling in to nurse at night.
2. Cute talking: It's been said that the nut seldom falls far from the tree. And when it comes to talking a blue streak, that's certainly true for the Pip. She's learning words like "exquisite" and "fascinating" thanks to Sesame Street and Fancy Nancy, so her vocabulary is keeping up the pace. But she still says "merfume" instead of "perfume," "mackin" instead of "napkin," "nimp" instead of "mint," and "kank you" instead of "thank you." You will not hear me correcting her anytime soon.
3. Couch napping: Pippi gave up the nap about a year ago. It was both a relief (to not have to schedule around it) and a heartbreak (to not have that quiet hour), but she was ready. Still, now and then she wears herself out enough (or wakes up painfully early enough) that she'll curl up with us on the couch and fall asleep. Her cheeks flush, her lips pouf out, her lashes brush against her face -- and in that sweet moment tucked into my arm, I can still see her babyness lingering under her big girl look.
4. Book cuddling: As a book nerd, I find some of my favorite moments with my children are those spent reading. Junius doesn't fit very well on my lap anymore, but Pippi can still curl up just enough that we can cuddle when we read. It doesn't last long before her legs unfurl, but I love feeling the weight of her leaning back against me while we enjoy reading together.
5. Bedtime kissing: After Pippi falls alseep at night (in her very big girl bed, of course), I go back in to check on her. She still spins and twists during her sleep, so we never know quite where she might be in the bed or which direction she might be facing. But once I find her, I lean in for one more goodnight kiss on the cheek -- her cheeks are about the only part of her that's still plump with baby fat and it's almost like kissing a marshmallow (not that I've done that, but it's what I imagine it would feel like). 

What treasured remnants of baby-hood are you clinging to at your house -- or what do you miss from those sweet early years? Or, if you're in the throes of those not-actually-always-sweet early years, what baby moments are you ready to be rid of?

Catch up on Pippipalooza 2012:

- It's On

- Preschool Musical
- The Party Plan
- Behind the Party Scenes

- Blog Post Retrospective

Watching Him Go

Somehow it never gets any easier. More manageable, but not actually easier.

I still ache when I leave him somewhere.

Yes, Junius is six-and-a-half (and we all know how critical that extra "half" can be). And yes, he's fine and will have fun and will somehow manage to stay safe without my hovering over him.

But knowing those things hasn't stopped the lump in my throat, the feeling of my heart dropping into into my stomach.

Last week it was hockey track-out camp, where he didn't know anyone. Even pumped up with shoulder pads and standing taller than usual on his ice skates, he seemed so little as he walked away. I loitered in the lobby, wondering if he might turn around and change his mind about staying. The camp lasted for five full days, but he asked me to pick him up after lunch each day -- and, of course, I did.

This week it's grandparent camp, where he gets to be the center of the universe for four days with my in-laws and then my parents. Today he practically pushed me out the door so he could have alone time with his grandmother. Every night this week I will call him before bed, listening to him recounting his day and helping me hold onto the illusion of tucking him in. Having only one child will make my week easier, but strangely lonely.

It's a cruel trick of parenting. When they're here, they are crazy, exhausting, unrelenting, needy -- some days I want nothing more than to walk away for an hour alone. But when they're gone, their absence doesn't bring simple relief -- although it does create a quiet that is welcome, for a bit, until it's not.

Already I know I will cry when he leaves for overnight camp, for college, for study abroad, for some job in another state. I will want him to do all of those things, will put on a brave face for him so that he will trust his decision to go, will be unreasonably proud of his accomplishments.

But it will not be easy watching him go.

Friday's 5: Trade-Offs

When Junius was a baby, I thought he would be this tiny, needy, helpless (and adorable, but still exhausting) bump on a log forever. And I was terrified.

I looked at my friends with toddlers and school-aged kids and longed for the day when my child wouldn't be attached to me in such a literal way.

Of course, as it turns out, those early days quickly disappeared. Sometimes I miss the baby days, but I also enjoy the advantages of not having an infant in the house. Now that I've got a 6-year-old and an almost 4-year-old, life looks really different.

But I've been noticing lately that there are good and bad sides to having kids who are getting older and more independent. So for those of you still wandering in the hazy exhaustion of newborn-ness, here are five trade-offs that you have ahead of you.

1. Reading: 
   The Good: Now that Junius can read he can better entertain himself and Pippi. He's also better at answering my questions because he has access to a lot more information.
   The Bad: Now he can read everything -- including speed limit signs (which may or may not correspond to the speed of my car), event announcements (that I wasn't planning on taking him to) and other less appropriate material. It's like baby-proofing, but different.
2. Clothing:
   The Good: Junius gets himself up every morning and gets dressed before waking us up -- he's our school day alarm clock. And now Pippi is old enough to dress herself, too -- great that the only person I have to dress in the morning is myself.
   The Bad: There's no telling what they'll come up with. For Junius, it's probably red gym shorts with a different-shade-of-red t-shirt. For Pippi, well... she could go through as many as four (ahem) unusual selections in one day, usually involving something a) sparkly, b) pink, c) flouncy, d) too big/small or e) all of the above (see photo).  
3. Eating:
   The Good: My kids can make their own breakfast now, reach the snacks in the pantry and fix juice out of the fridge -- again, one less chore that falls on my plate.
   The Bad: They're making their own food choices sometimes without asking, meaning they're fixing Chex Mix for breakfast or eating the last banana that I needed for smoothies.
4. Time:
   The Good: Because Junius really is our household alarm clock, it's very helpful for him to be able to tell time. It's also nice to tell him that a friend is coming over at 4:00 and have that actually mean something.
   The Bad: It's a lot harder to convince him that it's time to go to bed when he can look at the clock and tell that it's only 6:15.
5. Television:
   The Good: So it's probably not our most stellar parenting move, but we've discovered that we can sleep in a little on Saturdays now that the kids are able to work the TV (including the TiVo) on their own. Hey, I still remember sitting in front of the test pattern with my brother on Saturday mornings waiting for cartoons and I turned out okay -- trusting that my kids will, too.
   The Bad: If we're not up with them, then they're choosing their own programming -- which is often the Disney channel (and I'm sorry, but I think most of those shows are terrible) or occasionally something less-than-kid-friendly from TiVo. 

As they say, the grass is always greener... If you've got a newborn, what older stage are you looking forward to? Or if you've got older kids, what mixed blessing of the future should I be worrying about now?
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A Warning about Halloween Masks

This is what my son's face usually looks like:

Nearly always smiley and happy. Often silly or goofy. Occasionally grumpy or frustrated. But blessedly, almost never stern or evil.

So that's why his Halloween costume was so disconcerting this year.

With that horrible, hard plastic Anakin Skywalker mask on, we couldn't see his smile. And with the way the cut-outs were shaped (or maybe just because the whole thing was so weird), we couldn't even see if his eyes were smiling.

Every time I looked at him, I got sad and worried. It was like some sort of creepy glimpse into a future teen-aged Junius who sulks around, refuses to smile and dyes his hair.

Blech.

So let this serve as a cautionary tale to the rest of you moms out there. Next year, don't let your babies grow up to be kids who wear angry masks as part of their Halloween costumes.
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Wordless Wednesday: Junius Loses His First Tooth

This actually happened last Wednesday,
one week after the shark teeth showed up.
And yes, the Tooth Fairy remembered to come (phew!).

Big Teeth

Someone hold me.

Not only does my sweet baby boy have his first wiggly loose tooth, I discovered something even more terrifying today. Behind those tiny, adorable, bottom front teeth are two great big boy teeth poking through.

Look at them in there! How is it possible that I just saw them today?! And he's so very proud -- especially when my husband told him he's like a shark with two rows of teeth.

I'm not entirely sure why this seems like a bigger deal than starting first grade or riding the bus or all the other big boy stuff he can do now. Maybe because it's the start of his grown up face -- a visible sign every time I look at him that he's growing up faster and faster every minute.

Whoever said that the days are long but the years go by so quickly really wasn't kidding. Going upstairs now to kiss his sleeping forehead one more time before he's suddenly 17.
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J-Fest 2011: Decisions He Made

We're celebrating Junius all week as he turns 6!

Again, that's six years old, people. Crazy stuff -- and it means he can do all sorts of cool things that he couldn't do when he was a preschooler, including making more of his own decisions.

Sometimes that's hard for me to let go of, but it's also fun to watch him figure out what matters. And it's interesting to see when he has strong opinions about something that I wouldn't have predicted.

Here are five decisions he started making on his own over the past year:

1. Getting dressed: If left to his own devices, Junius would wear all red most days -- as in, red basketball shorts and a red hockey t-shirt. For variety, he'd add his blue/yellow basketball jersey. This makes me crazy, so we came up with a deal. On Monday through Thursday, he has to wear a collared shirt to school (although most days I let him pick which one) and on Fridays he can pick what he wants. It's not always fashionable, but it mattered to him.
2. Making breakfast: Because Junius wakes up like an alarm clock stuck on 6 a.m., my husband had the great idea of teaching him to make his own breakfast. Now he picks out his cereal, toast or English muffin (most days) and gets himself fed before school.
3. Riding the bus: Although it made us a little a jittery to imagine our little kindergartner on the bus with 5th graders, Junius really wanted to ride the bus home from school each day. Thankfully, our 3rd-grade friend was also on the bus, so we said yes. I have no idea why he liked riding the bus, but he did -- and it was nice that Pippi and I didn't have to sit in carpool during what used to be her naptime.
4. Playing hockey: As native North Carolinians, my husband and I were probably most likely to encourage Junius to play basketball or soccer or swim team. But the kid loves hockey, so he's decided to learn how to skate this summer so that he can start learning to play hockey in the fall. We're bracing for cold days sitting in the stands, but we'll be there to cheer his choice.
5. Halloween costume: Last Halloween was the first year Junius decided on his costume entirely on his own. And interestingly enough, he ended up choosing two -- Batman and Spiderman. Guess my days of suiting him up in adorable animal costumes are long over.

In some ways these seem like small decisions, but it's a step. A little bit of control over his own young life. And before we know it, he'll be deciding on summer jobs and college tours and all sorts of big fat hairy deals -- hopefully getting in some practice early will help in the long run.