Road Trips

My family didn’t take many big trips when I was a kid. We spent most summer vacations at North or South Carolina beaches or visiting my grandparents in Virginia.

On the occasion that we went somewhere more exotic -- like Washington, D.C., or New York --  we always drove and we always checked out any colleges that were nearby. But a college visit with my dad didn’t usually involve an official tour or a trip into the admissions office. Instead, we mostly just drove through campus and saw whatever we could see from the car, then we kept going.

These little side trips became known as The Dave Drive-By.

Then the summer after my freshman year in college, my parents, brother and I took our first big family trip on an airplane – we flew to San Francisco, where we rented a big white Lincoln Town Car. I think the trunk on that thing was bigger than my first dorm room. Two weeks -- and four states, three national parks (four if you count Las Vegas), more than a dozen friends and relatives, and at least three colleges/universities -- later, we flew home from Phoenix.

That trip went down in family history as the Official Drive-By of The West. It was kind of a strange trip – I was 19 and used to living away from home, my brother was 15 and probably used to having me away from home. All four of us shared hotel rooms (when we weren’t staying with friends or family) and did pretty much everything together for the whole two weeks. I think back on it and wonder if my parents were crazy or clueless or both.

But I also can’t stop myself from grinning any time I think about that trip. My brother and I cracked endless jokes about the distance between the front seat and the back seat of the land yacht. We met relatives who last remembered seeing us when my brother was in diapers. My all ventured a little out of our comfort zones, saw places that were completely different than anywhere we’d ever been. We listened to a lot of Toad the Wet Sprocket.

More than 20 years later, that trip stands out as a mile-marker in my family history.

So far this year, my husband and I have taken our kids on our own version of The Drive-By in two opposite directions. In January, we drove to Pittsburgh (because who doesn't want to go to Pittsburgh in January?!) to see friends, tour the science center, ride the gondola, drive by the house my parents lived in when I was born, visit the Cathedral of Learning at Pitt, go ice skating outside and see the Penguins play hockey. In February, we drove to Disney World for the first time -- a more traditional kind of kid trip that still had that Drive-By feel as we whizzed through three parks in three days.

I wonder if my kids will remember 2014 as the Year of the Road Trip. Actually, I wonder if they will even remember 2014 at all. I’m pretty sure we were crazy for driving nearly nine hours to Pittsburgh, spending two days there and driving what turned into more than 11 hours back through a snow storm.  Pulling them out of school for two days to drive to Florida and back doesn't exactly seem logical either.

Even still, I find myself wondering how our kids will remember these trips and how their memories will be different from mine. Will Pippi recall the long, boring drive, or only the fact that she got to swim in the hotel pool and order room service for dinner? Will Junius wish we'd flown to Florida, or just laugh when he thinks back to shouting "THAT WAS AWESOME" on his first roller coaster?

And will either of them ever know how lucky they really are? Guess we'll keep planning Drive-Bys to remind them.

Forty

There's a scene in When Harry Met Sally (which I watched at least 847 times in high school and college) where Sally is sobbing on her bed with Harry about how her ex-boyfriend is getting married and he never really loved her. In the course of her tissue-laden despair, she chokes out the following exchange:

"And I'm going to be 40," Sally sobs.

"When?" Harry asks, puzzled.

"[Sniff, sniff] Some day," she wails.

I used to quote that line all the time with my friends (who also watched the movie 847 times) and laugh because 40 just seemed so impossibly old and far away. Until it wasn't.

Because "some day" turned out to be yesterday.

Just like that I'm 40. And I'm here to tell you that it is SO not at all old.

Everyone keeps asking me how I'm doing. But between the surprise tickets for a date night to see Shawn Colvin (my husband is amazing), sleeping in both days of the weekend (ibid), a pile of cards and well-wishes from my family and friends, and the birthday cake ambushes at our neighborhood Christmas party (complete with a rockstar 80s soundtrack) and my office (I'm very gullible), 40 is turning out to be a lot of fun.

Looking back to my teens and early 20s, I'm not sure where I thought I'd be at 40, so I have no way of knowing if I've arrived. What I do know is that I have a wonderful husband, two beautiful (albeit obnoxious) children, parents and family who love me, a fairly healthy body (thanks in no small part to a kick-ass neighborhood boot camp), really wonderful friends, a good part-time job, a lovely (if messy) house, and too many other blessings to count.

So take that, 40. You don't scare me at all.

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...

Subaru Love

Turns out you can't get a convertible with a third row.

Or at least you can't get one unless you're the guys on Top Gear and you saw the top off of a minivan (or a "people carrier," as they call it). And although the effort is admirable (and the episode linked there is brilliant), that's not so much the look I'm going for.

So today we bought a Subaru. It was love at first drive.

When we went to the dealership over the weekend to test it out, I came armed with two high-back boosters and one regular booster seat. The salesman looked at me like I had three heads instead of three seats, but I was determined to know whether or not they would fit.

Ta-da!

A little snug, but it totally worked. Then Junius proved that having the extra booster seat wedged into the middle wouldn't interfere with his comfort by promptly falling asleep during the test drive. Seriously, he just turns his head to the side and starts snoring.

Four days and several emails later, we were back at the dealership to trade in our Honda Accord and bring home the new car. 

This exchange marked the end of an era -- a decade with a car that saw us from newlyweds to new parents and beyond. It was the first big purchase my husband and I made together, then the first ride to bring home each of our days-old children. It saw us through interstate travels and tiresome commutes and at least a million trips to the grocery store. We have a lot of great memories tied up in that old car. 

But still, who could have predicted this?

That's Pippi trying to be brave while completely falling apart as I tried to take a photo of her and Junius in front of the old car. 

And that's Pippi sobbing on her daddy's shoulder while we wait on the paperwork. She cried for the better part of 20 minutes, only stopping to tell us that she wanted to keep the Honda until we died. (She's also wearing a turtleneck on an 85-degree day, but that's fodder for a different blog.)

It's hard to explain to a four-year-old that it's a good thing when we out-live our cars.

Junius managed to hold it together until we were pulling away in the new car. He teared up, looking over his shoulder as we left the Honda behind in the parking lot. Thanks to some Rock-O-Matic on the fabulous new stereo, he found his smile until bedtime, when more crying over the long-lost Honda ensued.

Who knows why they're suddenly so attached to a car that was slowly but surely falling apart from more than 137,000 miles worth of serious use -- maybe they're soft-hearted, nostalgic people or maybe they never realized that getting a new car meant giving up the old one. Maybe they just don't like change, even when it involves an upgrade. I really don't know.

What I do know is that, even though it's not a convertible, I'm going to love driving this Subaru.

Share your story... What car do you still remember saying good-bye to? Or how did your kids react when you bought a new family car?

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.

Capture the Everyday: Halloween Close-Up

Halloween got rained out at our house tonight.

Thankfully, our kids are young enough that they didn't seem to care. Plus, they'd already had a neighborhood costume parade on Sunday (complete with pinata) and trick-or-treating around Daddy's office on Monday afternoon. So they're not exactly starved for candy.

We hit a couple of milestones for Halloween this year. For Junius, it was his first year dressed as something in a full face mask and carrying a weapon (Anakin Skywalker). Wearing the full mask was really creepy -- even though it was just a hard plastic face -- because it made him look so stern and angry. That's not his normal look.

And for Pippi, I suspect this may have been my last year for enjoying her in a non-princess-based costume. The allure of the tiara is strong. But it turns out that the ears were a bigger draw for her this year.

In case you can't tell from the close-up, that's her Olivia costume. I love that she picked that one -- over Strawberry Shortcake and Cinderella -- because it suits her personality oh-so well. Olivia also comes with happy memories for me because I bought a hardback copy of Ian Falconer's original book in French when we were in Paris more than 10 years ago. At the time, I had no idea it was an American story and soon-to-be Nick Jr television show.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, that's a Halloween kazoo in her mouth. You just never know what sort of treats they'll be handing out at Daddy's office.

Capture the Everyday is about getting you to capture those everyday moments in your life! Each Tuesday, Melissa at Adventuroo will issue a simple challenge to capture something that’s a part of your daily life. You can post just a picture or add some words to go along with it. You’ll have a week to get it done and then she’ll issue another. It’s a quick, easy way to start capturing those little parts of life we sometimes take for granted.

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.
.

School Labels

This week I sent my son off to first grade at a Failing School. And I'm not alone -- of the 163 schools in my district, 141 of them are Failing Schools.

At least, that's the designation according to the federal No Child Left Behind Act.

Of course, I've actually been in my son's school, met his teachers, talked with his principal, seen what the kids are up to. I know that it's not a Failing School.

His school is the place where he learned to read, add and subtract last year. It's the place where he made new friends and played with old ones. It's the place where  teachers and administrators worked hard to teach all students and help them succeed. It's the place where parents and grandparents volunteered their time and money to make a difference. It's the place where Junius was excited to come back and start first grade.

But because his school missed the mark with six subgroups of students out of the 23 they're required to report, his lovely school is labeled a Failing School. And because it's the second year in a row that the school has been labeled in this way (last year they met 22 of 23 goals), they are required to offer families the option of transferring to another (specified) school in the district.

And this brings me to my concern about No Child Left Behind. I realize I'm not the first (or last) person to write any of this, but it feels really personal now that it's my school. While I don't dismiss the value of assessing student progress and holding schools accountable (because, honestly, is anyone arguing that we SHOULD be leaving some children behind?), I think it is dangerous to use this all-or-nothing approach.

For those of you not familiar with AYP (Adequate Yearly Progress) and NCLB, here's a quick primer of how it works in elementary schools:

• Every student in grades 3-5 takes two end-of-year standardized tests, one in reading and one in math.
• The school is responsible for reporting test scores for each of the following groups that has at least 40 students in it across the tested grades: white, black, Hispanic, Native American, Asian, multiracial, economically disadvantaged (measured as students who receive free and reduced-price lunch), limited English proficient (meaning English isn't their first language) and students with disabilities (also known as special ed). 
• Using these measures, most schools have several subgroups (plus their scores for the school as a whole), but not all 10.
• Counting each subgroup twice (once for reading and once for math) plus the school as a whole and a few of other measures under consideration, the elementary schools in my district have as few as seven and as many as 33 subgroups. The more diverse a school is, the more categories it's responsible for meeting (and thus, the more challenging it is to make the goal).
• If just one student group in one subject (math or reading) at a school does not meet the targeted proficiency goal, then the school is labeled a Failing School. That means that, depending on the target goal, it's possible for the test scores of 10 children in a school of 600 could determine whether a school is considered a failure.

When the general public hears "Failing School," they're not picturing my school. But if you're a new parent to the district or the school and you see that label on my school, wouldn't you be looking for another place to send your kids? And that would be a real shame because you'd be missing out on a great school.

On a happier note, take a minute to look back at Junius heading off for his first day of kindergarten last year. Same backpack, but a smaller boy. Man, he's growing up fast!
.

Saturday Strategery: Moving to the Big Girl Bed

How do you know when it's time to move your toddler out of the crib and into a big bed?

With Junius, we knew it was time because I was pregnant and needed a crib for his baby sister. Plus, he never slept well in the crib anyway, so it was no great trauma to move him.

We put him in a double bed with rails for the first time when we were at the beach, just after he turned two. He promptly buried himself under his blanket and friends and went to sleep. Just like that.

With Pippi, it's a different story. She always slept well in her crib, at least compared to her brother. And she was contained that way -- good both for timeouts and for letting her sing herself to sleep at night without worrying that she was roaming around in her room.

I was in no rush to move her, as long as she could still fit in the crib. I figured we'd wait until she turned three, then transition her so we could pass along the crib to our friends who are expecting their first baby in March.

So how did we know we needed to move her? She told us.

As in, she turned to me one night after Christmas, looked me straight in the eye and said in her most dramatically serious voice, "It is time, Mommy. It is time to give my crib to Molly."

Cue knife to Mommy's heart.

But she was right. It was time. So, based on our experience, here's your step-by-step guide to a successful transition from sweet baby crib to biggirlgrownup bed:

Step 1: Wait until you need the crib for someone else or until your child announces that she will no longer be sleeping in the crib. Feel sad.

Step 2: Come to terms quickly with the fact that your baby girl no longer fits in her crib like this:

Step 3: Make a "bed" on the floor out of blankets and pillows. Repair the nest during the night as your toddler wiggles and rolls around so that she doesn't end up sleeping on the carpet. Talk a lot about the importance of staying in your bed ALL NIGHT and not getting up. You can also take the mattress out of the crib and set it up like a bed on the floor.

Step 4: Clean up the nursery so you can take pictures of how adorable everything looked when your baby girl was still a baby. Notice suddenly how very big and tall and slender she is. Take a deep breath.

Step 5: Take apart the crib and set up the real bed. Add bed rails and load it up with friends, blankets and pillows. Talk some more about the importance of staying in bed ALL NIGHT. Snuggle up with your big girl and be thankful that a) there's enough room for you and b) she's still got that stinkin' pacie so at least she's not all grown-up just yet.

300 Posts in 2 Years

As of today, I've been blogging for two years and 300 posts. Ta-da!

When I started this blog, I didn't have any idea what I'd write about -- certainly wasn't confident that I could keep doing it for two years.

And of course, I haven't written anything here for more the past two weeks. I think I got paralyzed when I realized this would be post #300.

Also, I had a stomach virus, worked my usual office schedule, entertained my children, went on date night with my husband, managed the beginning of Home Renovation Phase 2, made lunches, battled the weather, went out of town, cooked dinner, did laundry, took Junius to his grandparents, bought groceries, blah blah blah blah.

So here you go. Post #300.

If you want something more substantial, go check out the guest post I wrote for Adventuroo and her Momcomm Monday series -- you can learn why I think Twitter is a good thing, especially if you're a blogger.

Then come back soon -- I've got lots to say, so I promise to start writing here again.

An Ineffable Decade

Ten years ago this week, I walked into my first class as a grad student at UNC and met my husband.

Of course, he wasn't my husband at the time. He was my professor.

Okay, I was a master's student and he was a doctoral student, so technically we were also classmates. But at that first moment, he was still my professor -- and I knew immediately that there was something different about him.

When he handed out our "welcome to class" forms to fill out, he asked all the usual stuff (name, email, website, etc), with some additional questions thrown in. I spent a lot of time on that form -- way more than should have been necessary. It seemed suddenly very important to make a good first impression. The two questions I remember focusing on most were:

1. What is one word that describes you?
2. Is there anything else I should know about you?

My answers were:

1. Ineffable.
2. I drive a convertible. 

The next day, we were flirting in the halls of the journalism school. Two weeks after that, I switched into a different section of the class so that we could start (officially) dating. One year later, we were married.

Ten years later, I'm still amazed at how it all happened. I might not be ineffable anymore, but I'm still driving a convertible and still trying to impress him. 

The good news? It seems to be working.

Photo from UNC.

Wordless Wednesday: First Day of Kindergarten

A popular blogging feature is "Wordless Wednesday" -- posting a photo that tells its own story without explanation. I can't promise mine will be completely word-free, but today seemed like a good day to try it out....

Friday's 5: Firsts from the Father

Today we bring you a guest post from SpinPhD, also known around our house as "Daddy."

Lately I’ve become acutely aware of firsts -- those milestone events that kick-off a lifetime of activity and life rhythms. In the last post, Convertible Girl wrote about Pippi’s first haircut. We took pictures, celebrated at Chick Fil A, called the grandparents and more. She felt like a celebrity and we couldn't believe how much she looked like a big girl all of a sudden.

I think we make a big deal out of firsts because they are transformative. We are changed after the event. We can never go back. You can’t undo a first, no matter how much you might want to. All that really matters is what happens next.

So today I get to share with you five of Junius’ firsts from the last several weeks:

1. First baseball glove. Having a catch is a time honored father-son tradition and Junius has a major sports bug. We went to the store together, trying on several until he picked out a black leather boy-sized glove. We’ve already had many rounds of catch -- with many more to come. He was even out playing with his PopPop at 7:15 a.m. last week. 
2. First jump off the diving board. Junius has made quantum leaps in his swimming prowess this year, which turned into his first leap off the diving board (see photo). In his excitement, he nearly leaped over me, but splashed down safely and swam to the side with a little help. He was equally delighted and terrified. Then he did it again.
3. First “earned” dollar. This followed his first week of chores – making his bed everyday, helping with the trash twice a week, taking out the recycling and “other duties as assigned.” He was thrilled with his first earned dollar, which included his first lesson in personal finance (also known as Saving for College). Maybe we should frame it and hang it on his wall?
4. First purchase with his own money. Thanks to grandparents and other relatives, he’s saved a few dollars in his piggy bank (but not $21k as he previously thought). His first purchase? A ham biscuit from Biscuitville. Buy one, get one free. I ate the free one.
5. First attempted bike ride without training wheels. He didn’t make it more than a few feet and still needs to remember to hold on to the handle bars all of the time (as opposed to grabbing hold of Dad), but that’s beside the point. He tried. He tried really hard. Although he didn’t ride completely solo, he now knows some things are harder than they look. And that trying means you don’t always succeed. Nonetheless, he’ll be back up again on that bike soon. I just know it…And then he’ll make his first real solo bike ride.

So many more firsts lie ahead. Watch out Neil Armstrong. Here comes Junius T. Bugg….

Like Mother, Like Daughter

Back in the day, my mom and I had nearly matching haircuts. Dorothy Hamill-style, natch -- I mean, it was the 70s. This was us (plus my brother, who did not have the matching haircut, much to his relief).

As I got older, I grew my hair out long, then cut it short, then long-ish, then very short, then long again, then perms (ah, the 80s), then short-ish again, then very long and finally landed in some version of my current 'do after college. Around these parts, I believe the technical term for my style is "the Raleigh bob," although I like to think my cut has a little more sass than that.

I tell you all of this as a set-up for what Pippi did for the first time yesterday.

She went from this...

...to this (notice the lollipop we had to use to bribe her into the chair)...

...to this...

...which, if you look at my profile picture on the right,
is pretty much the same haircut I have now. 

And motherhood comes full circle once again. Although I don't recall my mom teaching me to say, "Pippi has a sassy haircut!" when I was a girl.

Time Flies When You're Having Fun

We took Junius to preschool for the first time when he was 11 months old. It was just a morning program for the summer -- I think it was four days a week while I worked part-time at the office.

He's always been an early riser, but especially so in those days -- he was regularly up and ready to play by 5:30 a.m., which meant that he sometimes needed a power nap by mid-morning. So on that very first day, he fell asleep just before we were ready to get in the car and go to the preschool. That's him, sacked out on his Daddy, while we took pictures and marveled at the notion of taking our baby boy to school for the first time. It seemed crazy then -- he was so little -- but he loved it.

Tonight, four years later, he graduated from preschool. I realize that sounds hokey -- graduation should be for people who have studied hard, passed exams, written thesis papers, conquered the challenges of academia. But holy moley, when I think about how much Junius has learned, changed, grown in the past four years -- well, I'd say he's earned his moment in a cap and gown. And by "gown," I mean one of Daddy's dress shirts on backwards (see photo of him processing in).

During the ceremony, our preschool director called the graduates up by name to present them with a children's Bible (it is a Baptist preschool, after all) -- and she read out what the children wanted to be when they grew up and how much money they thought they'd make in that profession. Not surprisingly, there were lots of mermaids, fire fighters, ballerinas, police officers and veterinarians. Incomes ranged from "No money, but I'll get by with some help from my friends" to "infinity dollars," although $20 was a popular salary.

Junius? He wants to be a hockey player -- he thinks he'll make $21,000, which (according to him) is how much he has in his piggy bank at home.

And me? Surprisingly, no tears yet -- I think I was laughing too hard at the sight of my son hopping around in his father's shirt and a mortar board, his little arm covered in Toy Story silly bandz, believing that his Winnie-the-Pooh bank contains thousands of dollars. In a way, I guess he's right -- he's got a rich life and a future packed with a wealth of opportunity. I can't wait to see how it all turns out -- but I really hope it doesn't go by as fast as the past four years.

Sleep-Overs

Last weekend, I spent about 24 hours away from home -- I was actually less than two miles from my house, but we could have been in China for what it felt like. Because for that 24 hours, I had no responsibilities for anyone or anything other than me-- no kids, no husband, no house, no job. It was my first time having a "sleep-over party" with a girlfriend since I don't know when -- and just like when I was a kid, I was the last one still awake and talking after everyone else fell asleep.

The time away with a dear friend (whose daughter was at home with another friend) was both strange and lovely -- strange to feel so solo, with no one asking for a sippy cup or to be held or can I do this or that, yet lovely to have time to finish a complete sentence or just be still for a bit. We saw a Sunday matinee movie, ate take-out for dinner in our hotel, slept late, got pedicures and had lunch outside, all before I resumed my regular life picking up Junius from preschool. I missed everyone at home, but being away for even just a quick "trip" made me that much happier to be back with them the next day.

This weekend, we have a different kind of sleep-over planned. This time, Junius is the one getting away -- and I think he's even more excited than I was last weekend. I, however, am terrified.

He's going for his very first sleep-over ever -- staying with Nonna and Grandpa for one night. I'm sure he'll have a blast, and I know they're thrilled that he's coming. But somehow I just can't believe that my baby boy is old enough to spend the night both away from home and away from me. What if he misses me and Daddy? What if he wakes up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep? Or, gasp, what if he doesn't even notice that I'm not there?

Deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths.

At least I'll have the Pip to keep me busy as she cries out in the middle of the night demanding, "Where my pacie go, mommy?!"

Sigh. I'm going to need a good nap come Sunday afternoon.

A Letter to Santa

Junius wrote his first letter to Santa this week. I'm not sure who was more excited about it -- Junius or his daddy.

Thanks to some really wonderful coaching from Abby, they did a great job -- not sure if you can read Daddy's translation of Junius's drawings in the letter (shown left), but here's what it says:

Dear Santa, I have been good this year. Lightning McQueen and Chick Hicks [illustrations of the cars that he's asking for]. Please bring toys to other children too. Merry Christmas to Santa.

After they wrote the letter, we all went up to North Hills (a convenient substitute for the North Pole) and mailed the letter in the special Santa mailbox outside the toy store.

The whole thing was very sweet, but it left me feeling a little conflicted. I grew up "believing" in Santa the same way I "believed" in Pippi Longstocking, the Narnia siblings and the Muppets -- another great character to enjoy. I never felt deprived of the magic of Christmas, but also never had the crushing he's-not-real-and-everything-is-ruined moment.

As a kid, I loved watching Christmas specials, singing carols, decorating the house, waiting for my grandparents to arrive (which really signaled the beginning of the holiday for me). On Christmas Eve, we'd go to mass, then come home and open one present. Once we were in our pajamas, Granny would start looking anxiously out the window declaring, "Oh my stars! I think I see some reindeer out there -- you kids better get to bed!" In retrospect, I'm sure our holidays were filled with plenty of stress for my parents, but for me it was all fun and good times -- even though I didn't really believe that Santa was real.

Now as a mom, I'm at a total loss about how to create that same fun-without-the-pressure for my own kids. They'll be excited about Christmas morning no matter what -- doesn't matter who the presents are from. What I worry about (after listening to my 4-year-old for the past month) is my kids believing that Santa will automatically bring them every gift they want. I'm more worried about their disappointment in Christmas if they believe too much.

At the same time, I don't want to ignore Santa completely -- and I couldn't do that, even if I wanted to, given that he's everywhere and that so many people really want to believe. It's a tough call -- wish I had the answer. I know I'm not alone in this struggle -- see Erin's post at Triangle Mamas.

So tonight, after the kids go to bed, we'll put out a couple of presents under the tree from Santa. And I'll watch them in the morning to see their reaction. And then I'll be thankful that I have another 364 days to figure it out for next time.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Seconds Have Firsts, Too

After my recent post about firsts for Junius, one of my readers wisely observed that the real challenge is to capture the same moments with Pippi. As a first-born myself, I'm sensitive about the tendency to over-do things for the first baby and under-do them for the second -- maybe it's lingering guilt over having my parents all to myself for the first four years.

Being second doesn't appear to be all bad. One advantage -- in addition to having more relaxed parents and a really entertaining older brother -- is that Pippi gets to tag along and join in experiences earlier than we did with Junius. Several of his firsts have also been firsts for Pippi, like the football games.

Here's Pippi loving her first stadium hot dog (like mother, like daughter) at her first college football game at N.C. State...

Here's Pippi trying to pick up as many pom-poms as she can possibly hold in her chubby little hands at her first UNC game...

This past Saturday was her first real time trick-or-treating. We took her along last year, but she couldn't walk yet, so I don't think it counts. Here she is, very nervous, at her first door...

After the first house, she quickly figured out the routine. The main thing that kept slowing her down was her intense desire to stop after each house and eat the candy right there in the driveway. Girlfriend comes by her sweet tooth honestly.

And then last night, tugging on my husband's pants leg and smiling up at her daddy, she said her first unprompted, unscripted, more-or-less complete sentence: "Ca cor peese."

Translation: "Candy corn, please."

Her father, so impressed by her politeness and her new-found ability to communicate, happily obliged her request. Don't think for a minute that she doesn't know exactly what she's up to.

First of Many

Marking milestones with Junius when he was a baby is what got me through that first year of craziness -- first smile, first food, first word, first steps and so on. In the early months, time seemed to move so slowly and I remember wondering if we would ever get to a point where he didn't need me every second of the day.

Now it seems like there's a milestone every week, and he's growing up so fast that there are days he doesn't need me at all. It's exciting and sad and amazing -- and although I know I'm not the first mom to feel this way, it's my first time and it sometimes makes me lose my breath.

Since his first camping trip at the end of the summer, Junius has tackled several more "firsts" that I want to document here:

• First time riding his bike to school... This actually made me cry a little bit as he was literally and metaphorically pedaling away from me. He was crazy proud of himself (and I was, too). It's about a mile from our house to his preschool, with several very big (up) hills. He needed a push now and then, but he made it the whole way. Now he rides to school (while I push Pippi in the stroller) at least three times a week.

• First football game... My cousin and brother-in-law will be proud to know that Junius's first time attending football game was at N.C. State's Carter-Finley Stadium. He had fun, but (as you can see from the photo) was a little sensitive about all the noise. Pippi, however, was not the least bit bothered -- she's definitely our party girl.

• First UNC football game... As a double Tar Heel, I couldn't let that NCSU game be the end of it, so we took the kids to their first UNC game in Kenan Stadium. Amazingly, the Heels won, but I think Junius's favorite part was watching the trombone players in the band.
  

• First movie in the theater... Watching Junius take in his first movie theater experience was almost as big a deal as watching him ride his bike to school. We couldn't have asked for a better set-up -- a limited release of Toy Story and Toy Story 2 (double-header with a 10-minute intermission) in 3-D. My husband took the afternoon off from work (shhh, don't tell), we left Pippi with a sitter, and went to the noon show. We were the only people in the theater. Literally. Popcorn, sippy cup and your choice of any seat in the house -- it just doesn't get any better than that.

Next week's milestone? As the ring-bearer in a wedding, Junius will sport his first tuxedo. Mommy will be bringing her camera -- and lots of tissues.