one down, one to go

It is a good thing three year olds are so easy to please.  At about 5:30pm yesterday I felt a sense that I had failed to provide the birthday for Eli that I had wanted.  Richard was quick to point out that Eli didn't notice anything lacking.  Isn't that often the way it goes?  We don't live up to our own elaborate expectations but our children never know the difference.   Or maybe they even appreciate the difference.  The simplicity.  Let this be a lesson to me.

**Thank you to a thoughtful nursery teacher for the balloons. 

three years

I have never blogged as if I were speaking to my child.  I see that on blogs quite a bit, but I didn't think it was my style.  But for the sake of variety I'll give it a go. 

To ELI:  On your third birthday

Your dad and I noticed the other day how sensitive your senses are to the world around you. 

Your big brown eyes are so sensitive to the bright sun.  You wear your sunglasses all the time.

Your often cover your little ears to protect them from loud noises, and you especially hate when the wind blows and makes your eardrum quiver. 

Your adorable little nose does not spare you from the farm-ish smells of Kuna and you don't spare us from your complaints about it.

Your small hands love the sensation of bubbly soap and warm water and you would wash and wash them forever.

Your refined palate has zero tolerance for tastes and textures it does not approve of, resulting in your stubborn refusal to swallow these foods until they drip out of your mouth or you spit them into a napkin. 

These are the things we remember when we look back on this last year of your life.  We love these things about you.

We love you Eli Pie.

a photo story about yet another Eli injury

Eli has a nickname with my father in-law.  Horrible Headwound Harry.  Today while racing with Cameron there was a collision and this was the resulting damage. 

In retaliation against Cameron for his role in the tragic events, Eli refused to let him see the wound.  This must have been very satisfying because it drove Cameron absolutely crazy.  Although he hates the sight of blood, he still posesses that bit of human nature that compels us to look.  After about 45 minutes of secrecy it was getting difficult to accomplish small tasks with only his left hand available. 

So for a brief moment he exposed the gash for Cameron's curious gaze. 

But it didn't last long. Soon he was back to concealing the injury. 

 I love this picture though because it demonstrates something about Eli's stubborn nature.  Very often he persists in doing something for so long he forgets where he began.  Nearly an hour after the incident he continues to put forth the effort to stand his ground but makes himself into a joke by neglecting his original purpose completely. 

**It is worth noting that I am tremendously grateful that this injury wasn't nearly as traumatic as it could have been. 

the great thumb sucking debate

Richard and I had given in to the idea of Miriam being a thumb sucker. She seemed to have her heart set on it and for days it appeared as though she had mastered the skill. I had some reservations but it is so darling  and convenient I gave them little thought. At bedtime and naptime I would place in her in crib, wide awake, and in a matter of seconds, with thumb in mouth, she would be off to dreamland.

Ours was a happy (and well rested) home.

Then the dynamic changed in a strangely coincidental way.

I am dental hygienist and therefore somewhat familiar with all things oral, including the repercussions of thumb sucking. At work on Monday I made the obvious mistake of bringing up her habit in the company of my dentist-boss. He gave me a disapproving (but understanding since he has children too) glance. I asked him straight out if it was his professional opinion that I should stop my precious baby from sucking her thumb.

“Break the habit now.” He said without hesitation.

A coworker must have seen my well-rested being droop in disappointment and she responded.

“Don’t worry Jo, that is what orthodontists are for!”

For hours I thought of the cruel methods by which I could prevent Miriam from perpetuating this bad habit. Making her wear those little baby mittens or putting that icky stuff on her tiny thumb. It all seemed too awful. By the end of the day I had determined I could not rob her of that peaceful place she resides with thumb in mouth. Even at the risk of orthodontics. Statistically speaking she is likely to need them anyway.

Then on Tuesday Miriam quit sucking her thumb. It was as though she had forgotten how. All of the sudden she relied once again on the binky. That meant every nap and bedtime involved frequent intermissions where I had to return the binky to her wanting lips. So much for well-rested. Midnight trips to her bedroom to replace the binky were disrupting my once blissful sleep cycles.

I know I should have been grateful that she voluntarily gave up.  The goal was accomplished without my having to execute any of the cruel antics I had been  imagining.  Nevertheless, I was crestfallen.

This morning I put her down for a nap and knowing that she would cry as soon as her binky fell out I retreated to the shower where I could not hear her sadness. When I returned to check on her, I found her fast asleep with thumb in mouth.

I can not say for sure that she will return to her old ways. Perhaps it is another phase. Secretely (or I guess it is no secret anymore) I am hoping she resumes her self-soothing.  What I can’t decide is if my desire for her to suck her thumb is entirely selfish, or only just 50% selfish. 

I guess I’ll just go with it. See what happens. And be sure to keep it a secret from my dentist-boss.

birthday parties

Several years ago Richard and I decided (and by that I mean I decided and Richard shrugged his shoulders as if to say "Sure. Whatever.") that we would allow our children to have an organized birthday party (where they could invite friends and I would entertain them) twice, at ages five and eight. 

That sentence was a grammatical nightmare. But I'm too lazy to go back and fix it.  I wouldn't know how.

Next week Cameron turns five.  He has requested a dinosaur birthday party.  I have one week so today I consulted my best source, the web.  Much... too... overwhelming.  I had no idea the extent to which some people go for birthday parties.  I have neither the time, ambition or the funds to expend such energies.  Internet, you failed me.

So I think we'll just stick with musical chairs, dropping clothespins in glass jars and maybe pin the tail on the T-Rex.  I might actually buy a dinosaur cake because the idea of trying to make one causes me to hyperventilate.

One more thing.  I decided that I would request that the preschool age guests not bring gifts.  Is that tacky/offensive/totally bizarre?  I just can't stand the idea of more toys around this place.  And I feel bad asking other children's parents to spend money on him in these "tough economic times". I told Cameron that his friends wouldn't be bringing gifts and, well, if you know anything about Cameron you know what happened. 

Tears. Whining.  Banging of limbs against nearby objects. 

It was all enough to indicate that gifts are the last thing the child needs. But never fear mothers and fathers whose hearts are breaking for the poor child.  He will get gifts.

There is a swingset being secretly stored in a friends backyard with his name (and Eli's) all over it.

a [sensitive] kindred spirit

In the book The Secret Life of Bees there is a character named May who I can identify with in small part.  She had a problem of taking ownership of others problems.  Any time May heard about tragic events in the world she would launch into deep dispair. 

May's coping mechanism was a stone wall she built.  She would write down the stories she heard on slips of paper, deposit them into the stone wall, and weep until she could let go of her grief.

Recently I have heard sad stories from the lives of people around me. I have felt anguish and sorrow on their behalf.  I told Richard I needed a wall like May's.  A place to let go of all the problems I observe that I am not capable of solving. 

But he pointed out that it didn't really work for May. 

I have quoted it before and will likely quote it again, because the Serenity Prayer is my default wisdom for times like this.

"GOD, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference...

Taking, as He did, this...world as it is, not as I would have it..."

Have you completed your census questionnaire?

Person 4 made an art project out of the return envelope on our census questionnaire.  It ought to give the government some insight into the occupants residing at this address.  When Person 1 showed it to me I responded:

"They will understand once they open it and review the enclosed data."

**I think instead of coming up with clever names or using just the first letter of the names of my family members for privacy, I'll just refer to them as Persons 1-5, after the manner of the census commission, in ascending age order.  Much simpler.

some people are nice, some are not

I have become so accustomed to people thinking I look too young to have children that I was speechless the other night at the grocery store when a man assumed otherwise.  As I made my way toward the eggs and milk he said to me "This must be a nice break for you!"  Since I had none of my three children with me I was utterly bewildered as to how he would know that.  Maybe it was the items in my cart, but most likely it was the leisurely pace at which I perused the aisles truly relishing my time alone. I responded "It is!" with a smile and he gave me a pleasant smile in return before continuing down the aisle. 

He was so nice.

Contrast that with my experience at Hobby Lobby yesterday when I had all three children with me.  Ironically I was feeling quite good about how well the kids had behaved in the store and we were just about to pay. Eli got distracted looking at something and fell behind while I went with Cameron to supervise his treat selection.  A woman approached Eli and asked, in a voice resembling the wicked witch of the west "Little boy, where is your mother?!"  I stepped into view and calmly stated "I am right here. Come on Eli." He walked toward me and showed me the item in hand. I asked "Where did you get that?" (So we could return it to its proper place.)  And the cranky woman with cold eyes of steel snapped at me "What would you care!" She then stomped away and out of the store leaving me, once again, utterly bewildered.

She was not so nice. 

I hope I am the kind of person who can bewilder people with kindness rather than cruel judgement. 

**Side note:  If you remember my post about the late twenties you might find it humorous to know that when I made another delivery to D.I. yesterday the guys on the collection dock were listening to none other than Beyonce.  And let me put it this way, it wasn't the "sharp looking young man" that had been there before.