now we are six

Dear Evan,

I failed to write you a birthday letter when you turned five, so now I've got a lot of lost time to make up for. You turned six today! It's a little bit unbelievable, how much you've grown. Looking at your six-year-old face, it's hard to find any traces of the chubby-cheeked baby who used to toddle around our house. You're getting taller and skinnier all the time -- those Schmidt genes are finally starting to show themselves.


You've had a lot of big changes in your sixth year. The most important in your day-to-day life was starting kindergarten. Finally, after all those years of waiting, you get to ride the bus with your big brother and your neighborhood friends. Now you, too, get to have gym (your favorite) and music and library and computer class and field trips and bingo nights and all of the wonderful things that come along with grade school.


And you're right at home in school. Your teachers have sent home glowing reports, you're making friends, your handwriting has progressed from shaky preschooler scrawl to careful, precise printing, you're adding with ease (and getting there with subtraction), and best of all, you're reading! You took your time getting into reading, but once you got the hang of it you quickly became a pro. Now you read stories aloud with perfect expression and barely any stumbles at all. You're a huge fan of comics, but you're beginning to make forays into chapter books as well.

School has been a huge deal this year, but you've grown up in other ways as well. You learned to ride a two-wheeler this spring, and you could not have been more proud of yourself. In true Evan fashion, you spent a few days complaining that it was too hard and you'd never be able to do it, and then one day practically without warning you climbed onto your bike and rode off down the street as if it were the simplest thing in the world.


One of the biggest changes since the last birthday letter I wrote you is that tantrums are nearly a thing of the past. You have come a long way in learning to control your temper, and your hard work and practice have paid off. You seem so mature these days. There are still occasional bumps in the road, but you're really learning to master yourself, and I think that makes everyone who lives with you a little happier.


One of the biggest challenges you had to face this year was the sudden death of your uncle John, your dad's older brother. This was your first real, personal encounter with death, and it took some time for you to really process and comprehend what had happened. We were all deeply affected, of course, but it breaks my heart a little that you only had a few short years to know your uncle. I hope you'll always remember how much he loved you.


This year wasn't all changes, though. In many ways you're still the same Evan we've known and loved for so many years. Rambunctious, spontaneous, imaginative, funny, affectionate. Still obsessed with Legos, still in love with any animal you lay eyes on, still ready for snuggling at bedtime. You're still the same unpredictable child who constantly keeps us on our toes. You make sure our lives don't get boring.


Only a day into six years old and we've already been told that six year olds don't need help with things anymore. Six seems to be a Big Deal, the first year, maybe, in which you really believe you have changed. But at the same time you're not in too much of a hurry to grow up, and I'm glad for that, because it's so much fun to be your mother, Evan.

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a letter to my brother-in-law

Dear John,

A million thoughts have been swirling through my head in the last couple of days, but the one I keep returning to, the thing I can't get past, is how unfair it is that you're dead. How unfair it is to you, who had so much life left to live, and how unfair it is for the rest of us, who have to figure out how to live in a world you're not part of anymore.

It's so unfair that you were taken from us so suddenly. I'm just hung up on the injustice of it, from the stupid little things like how sad I am for you that you'll never get to play the keyboards on Rock Band 3, or how you'll never get to read the book you were telling me about the last time I saw you, to the huge things like how you won't get to see your nephews grow up, and how terribly sad it is that you and Elizabeth don't get to grow old together. You had so much left to do!

I've been your official sister-in-law for less than a year, but I felt like family from almost the first time we met, nine years ago, because you were so open and warm and friendly. I've lost a number of relatives in my life, but this is the first time I've lost a family member who was also a dear friend. And maybe it's because I'm so far away, but it still doesn't feel quite real yet. When I think that I'll never see you again, never hear your wonderful contagious laugh, never have another huge warm hug from you, it seems impossible.

I only got to know you for nine years, which was not nearly long enough. And if nine years can produce so much grief, how much worse must it be for those who knew you and loved you for decades, for your whole life? And there were so many who loved you -- who wouldn't love you? You were an amazing person, a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, an uncle, a friend, and you were so kind, generous, loving, and always smiling. My heart aches for your parents, your siblings, all of your family and friends, and most deeply for Elizabeth.

How do you say goodbye to someone you didn't even know was going to be leaving? We all miss you, more than words can adequately express. It's so hard to see beyond the sudden pain of loss. I know it won't always be this painful, but your absence will always be felt.

Thank you, John, for being such a wonderful person, for all the fun and laughter and hugs and conversation and games and generosity and kindness and love. You will never be forgotten. You will ever be missed and loved. Rest well, brother, and maybe someday we'll meet again.

Love,
Heidi

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belated birthday post

Dear James,

I'm a month late with your birthday letter, but surely after eight years of living with me and your dad, you've learned that punctuality is not something we're known for, nor does it run in the family, so I know you'll forgive me. I know this, too, because you're a forgiving sort of person, quick to move on, never holding a grudge.

Thank goodness for that, because this year you are beginning to make comparisons between your life and the lives of your peers, and you're quick to let your dad and me know when we fall short of the parenting ideals. Too many chores, no allowance, we never take you to McDonald's, that sort of thing. You like to inform us of all of the wonderful things you'll do as soon as you turn eighteen. I almost died the day you added "buy whipped cream in a can" to this list. Someday you will understand that your mother always whips real cream not because she hates you and wants you to be weird, but because she loves you and wants you to enjoy real food.

Yesterday you were angry with me for one of my many parenting failures and you demanded, "How do I know you're my real mother?" It's hard to tell sometimes, because you are still so remarkably like your dad. Your second-grade teacher is very impressed with your math knowledge and skills, and she told us how surprised she was during the first week of school when you informed the class about negative numbers. I would have loved to see the look on her face a couple of weeks ago when you went to school armed with the information your dad had just taught you about imaginary numbers.

You take after your dad in so many ways. You share his curiosity about the world around you, and from him you've learned to turn to science for your answers. You're so imaginative, always coming up with new ideas. You share his love of games, especially video games. You can be so silly -- you should have seen the look I gave your dad when your teacher told us about all of the weird noises you make in class, seemingly without even being aware of making them -- but you still have a surprising attention span, especially when it comes to drawing and reading.

Now, reading: that's one way I know you're my son. When you find a book you like you get so wrapped up in it that you can't put it down. You don't hear people talking to you, you carry the book around with you when you're forced to do something other than read, you bring a flashlight in the car so darkness won't prevent you finishing this chapter. You're reading books that are shelved in the Young Adult section of the library, yet you still like to be read to at bedtime.

It's a strange age, eight. You're navigating the gray area between childhood and adolescence. You like to snuggle on the couch and watch nature shows, yet you like to rock out to Weezer. You play Legos and cars with your brother at home, yet on the playground at school you and your friends play Twilight. I was the kind of kid who always felt a little out of place at this stage, but I think you're enjoying it, being able to move within two worlds.

You and your brother are still great friends, but I've noticed a bit of a change this year. It's becoming apparent that you are growing older, your tastes are changing, and you're a little less content to play the same old games. Sometimes you even decline to play with Evan in favor of reading, which sends him running to me, pleading can we please not get Calvin and Hobbes from the library anymore because all James does is reeeaaaaad!!! Evan gets frustrated with your growing maturity, but you are often kind enough to humor him.

It's fun being your mom in so many ways, James, whether you're telling jokes or drawing comics or helping me cook or regurgitating facts you've learned from Nature or Nova or from your dad. I like watching you crack up while you watch movies; I like sharing favorite books and movies and music with you and knowing you're old enough to really appreciate and enjoy them; I like overhearing you sing songs or recite poems you've learned at school; I like to see you drawing charts and graphs for fun, or designing board games, or writing stories.

Thank you for helping make our lives so much fun, James. Happy belated birthday. I love you more than any blog post can convey.

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preschool

Evan had his first day of preschool this morning. It was a strange feeling, dropping him off and getting back into the car with Greg beside me and an empty back seat behind us. James started nursery school for the first time when he was younger than Evan is now, yet Evan still seems so small.

Camera/computer issues are still not resolved, but luckily Greg just got a fancy-pants new cell phone and he was able to get a first-day photo of Evan:



Our little baby, all grown up, with his new big-kid backpack and everything. Sniff.

This will probably surprise no one, but Evan loved school, loved it to pieces. When I picked him up he ran to hug me and the first words out of his mouth were to ask me if we could dance ourselves home from school. Sweatshirt and backpack went on, and he was off, skipping down the hall toward the door.

The ride home from school was all narration, because guess what they had for snack??? Raspberry yogurt! And Mrs. S. is the nicest teacher in the world, she's much nicer than James' teacher! And they had story time, but Mrs. S. didn't read a book, she did a puppet show! And there's another Evan in the class, and Evan M was a very good listener for Mrs. S. but Evan S. was, oh, a pretty good listener. School is good.

We went to a welcome picnic at the school on Saturday, and it was a little weird. Greg and I are not so much the type of people to walk up to strangers and initiate small talk, so we kind of hung back and people-watched. The vibe from this school is different from that of James' preschool. Less granola, more Wal-mart. Comparisons: the snacks served at the new preschool were Capri Sun and store-bought cookies; snacks I have seen people feed their children at the old preschool were things like legumes and homemade whole-wheat crackers, and nothing less than 100% juice. Cars in the parking lot at the old school were mostly older minivans with liberal bumper stickers on the backs. Cars in the parking lot at the new school are much newer, shinier, and bigger, even including some SUVs. (I can't imagine anyone at the old school setting foot in an SUV.)

We spent some time discussing the suburban feel of the place before it struck me that maybe now that we live in the suburbs and are sending our son to the suburban preschool, maybe we look like a typical suburban family too. I mean, is there any way to tell from looking at us that I literally make my own granola? I started remembering something about books and covers and resolved to keep my mouth shut until I actually met some of these people. Even rereading the last paragraph makes me feel like a big snob, so -- hey! A project to work on in my new-found free time: less snobbishness.

So this school is not our ideal. It doesn't match, in my mind, the standard set by James' crunchy urban school. But the smile on my son's face, and the excited chatter all the way out the door and during the ride home have convinced me that it's a pretty good place for him to be.

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four years old

Dear Evan,

Today you're four years old. This is an important birthday -- this year was the first year you've really understood what birthdays mean, and you've been waiting for this day for a long time. Since James' birthday back in January, every time we've gotten a new Lego catalog you've gone through and pointed out to us which sets you wanted for your birthday. For the last week, you've been counting down the days.

When Grandma arrived this morning to spend your birthday weekend with us, she asked you how old you are now. You replied three, and wouldn't admit to being four yet. Eventually we were able to understand that you didn't think you actually turned four until you had the birthday cake. Eventually we were able to make you understand that this isn't true.

You've grown up a lot this year. I'm not foolish enough to tempt fate by saying that your tantrums are completely over, but I really think we're getting close. We can even go whole days without tantrums, sometimes! You're learning to control your temper, and I am so proud of you when I watch you struggle not to scream or flail or explode, when you express your emotions with words, because teaching to do those things has been a very long, hard road for both of us, and I think you're finally coming to the end of that road.

Lately you like to hear stories about what you were like as a baby. I tell you that we used to call you Monkey Paws, Crazy Eyes, Tomato Face. I tell you that you've always been a picky eater, and you've always been a reluctant, light sleeper. I tell you that your first words were "ball" and "car" and that you loved mama's milk and that you've always adored your brother and you just eat up every word.

Your imagination continues to surprise me. You're so inventive, creating names, putting together costumes, designing Lego ships, constantly narrating stories. Now that you're learning to draw recognizable pictures, your creativity is blossoming even more as you color monsters and Pokemon. You and your brother spend hours together inventing and creating and designing and building.

You are still stubborn, still willful and determined. Now that your tantrums are fewer, though, I'm coming to value these qualities in you because it shows you know your own mind. You're full of confidence. You hate being told what to do, and you won't take no for an answer. I keep reminding myself that someday your persistence will be an asset in achieving whatever you set your mind to.

Physically you're still spirited and rambunctious. You run almost everywhere. At the community play classes we went to this year, you tested your physical capabilities and limitations, often threatening to give me a heart attack with your stunts, jumping, leaping, diving on the mats. Any time I asked you to stop doing something dangerous, you'd look at me with that pouty lip and say, "But Mom, it's so much fun!" At playgrounds, other parents watch you with worried eyes as you climb structures they don't think someone your size should be able to climb. You like to tell people that you're small, but you're very strong.

It's been a difficult year for you in some ways, now that your brother is going to school full days. Learning to play without James alongside you, and learning the patience of waiting for that bus to arrive every afternoon have been hard for you. Yet you've done it. You two are still best friends, and you still miss him while he's away, but I think you've grown into yourself more as an individual without James. You can't wait to go to school now yourself.

We've had a good year, Evan. Maybe even our best. You're learning so much: you can write your name, you can read simple words, you've learned to dress yourself and do some simple chores around the house. You hardly nap anymore, and are learning to deal with being overtired. You are naturally very resistant to change, but you are learning to be a little more flexible when it comes to trying new foods. (We're still working on your clothing and shoe issues.)

Also, this morning, after years of thinking you'd never be able to, you learned how to roll your tongue:

Four years old, Evan, but I'm still allowed to call you my baby. I love you.

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happy birthday to james!

Dear James,

You're seven years old today. Seven years old! It hardly seems possible. But it's true; you're growing up. Things are changing in your world. You're slowly growing away from being a little boy, and starting to make your way to adolescence.

7 mini Dutch babies for a 7-year-old boy

Physically, you continue to grow up and up and up. Just last week we sent you to get ready for bed and you returned, totally oblivious, wearing your little brother's pajamas. Sure, they were short in the arms and legs, but they still fit you, you insisted. It wasn't until I really looked at the photo above, taken this morning, that I realized your face is growing up too. I think it's because your grandmother just trimmed your hair to allow us to see your face properly for the first time in months. Now, looking at that photo, I can see that all traces of chubby babyfat cheeks are gone. I don't know how this is possible when you're already out-eating me much of the time now.

You still look exactly like your dad, and you behave like him more and more as you grow older. You like to tease, tell jokes, play pranks. You are agreeable and cooperative. Anger and moodiness can often be cleared away in a matter of minutes. You're as curious and inquisitive as ever, always wanting to know how and why. Thank goodness your dad is a scientist with endless patience. He's been teaching you multiplication as well as some scientific principles that I would have expected to be too advanced for a first-grader, but you've proven me wrong.

Old age hasn't yet diminished your cheerfulness or optimism. When we were stuck in airports for so many hours over the holidays, you were the optimist. You were sure, every time, that we'd be on the next flight, that any minute now we'd be boarding an airplane. You played games with your brother, you befriended other kids waiting in the airport, you made your own fun and continued to enjoy yourself and boost our spirits when your dad and I threatened to get too disgruntled. You were tired, but you kept going, so excited about going to see Grandma and Papa for Christmas. When we left the airport after that first day of unsuccessful travel attempts, you were so surprised and disappointed that it hadn't happened. It was heartbreaking.

I feel like we don't see you much anymore these days -- you're at school all day long, and when you get home, most days you play outside until sunset. We get to see you for dinner and bedtime, with a little play in between, sometimes a bath, some homework,some chores, some reading. Your days are full and busy, but you don't seem to miss us much. I don't notice it most of the time either, how little time we're really spending together, until weekends or vacations when I get to spend entire days in your company and I'm reminded of how much fun it is to play games, to cook, to read, to snuggle with you.

I love you, darling boy, my sweet baby James. Happy, happy birthday.

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election day

Happy Election Day! I hope you're all going out to vote today.

James has the day off of school today, so after breakfast all four of us headed down to our town hall to vote. No voter drama here -- there was one couple ahead of us in line, voting went off without a hitch, and the poll workers gave my kids their own "I Voted Today" stickers. Then we headed to Starbucks for our free coffee (we don't have a Ben & Jerry's near us, and I didn't know about Krispy Kreme in time or else my children would have been in a sugar coma before lunchtime).

I have to say, regardless of political affiliations or opinions, Election Day is so exciting to me. It was so nice waiting in Starbucks and seeing almost every other person wearing wearing an "I Voted Today" sticker, and conversing with fellow voters. Evan finally changed his mind about McCain and was chattering happily about Obama, to the delight of other customers. We overheard one pair of customers telling another pair to make sure they vote today, because their employers have to give them time to vote.

I've been seeing a lot of inspirational stories in the news lately, about people waiting in line for up to six hours to vote early, about elderly people registering to vote for the first time in their lives because of this election. I know several people who've donated their time to help campaign during this election. James came home from school yesterday shouting excitedly that his school had elected Obama.

Election fever, it's everywhere.

And I have heard stories about voter fraud, about sneaky measures to impede people's right to vote or to disenfranchise people, rumors that the election will be stolen by one side or the other. Obviously there are some problems with our voting system. But to see people's hope and optimism and excitement and patriotism in the face of these challenges is just so heart-warming to me. I feel so happy to be an American today, to be able to be part of this process, to voice my opinion, to be part of something so much bigger than myself.

Please vote today. And feel free to share any interesting election day stories!

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the problem of memory

A few days ago I bought blackberries at the market. Every time we've had blackberries this summer, Greg and I have lamented the fact that we weren't able to visit his family in Washington this summer because of how badly the blackberries in NY pale in comparison to their west coast counterparts. (There are, of course, a million other [more important] reasons we're sad about not having a summer vacation in WA this year, but we do miss those blackberries.)

"Man," one of us will say, "I wish we were in Washington; then we could have buckets of blackberries for free, instead of $3 a pint, and those would all be ripe!"

"Yeah," the other will say, "these aren't nearly as sweet, and they're so small! You can't even do anything with so few blackberries!"

And so forth.

A couple of days ago, though, Greg chimed in with, "Remember the blackberry french toast we had at Tom's one summer?" When he saw the blank look on my face, he continued, "Remember? We picked a whole bunch of blackberries at my grandparents' house, and brought them to Tom's, and we made french toast and put all the blackberries on top? That was the most amazing french toast!"

I managed something like, "Well, I've had a lot of good french toast in my life."

"Come on," Greg pressed, "remember, we got to Tom's apartment -- not the one he's in now, not the last one, but the one before that -- and no one was home, so I broke in through the bathroom window and landed in the bathtub? Remember that time? We had that blackberry french toast on the same trip."

"Oh, yeah," I said weakly, "I think I remember that."

Readers, I was lying. I didn't remember it, I don't remember it, and doesn't that sound like something one should remember? Blackberry french toast can conceivably be forgotten, but I feel like I ought to remember my boyfriend breaking into someone's house through the bathroom window and landing in the bathtub. But it's a big blank instead.

Ten years ago, I had an amazing memory. I was an excellent student who hardly needed to study because I remembered almost everything from my classes and textbooks. I could have told you the middle names and birthdays and phone numbers and addresses of every single one of my friends, and a bunch of people I wasn't friends with too. My best friend and I had an intricate system of code names for practically everyone we knew and there was no need to write it down because there was endless space in my head for this sort of knowledge.

Today I have no memory to speak of. (I attribute this change directly to parenthood, by the way, and the lack of sleep that comes with it.) I see movies and can barely remember the plots a day later. I have trouble returning phone calls and emails because I forget that people have called or written me. Every single time one of my best friends from high school calls me, I fail to recognize her voice even though I've known her for fifteen years.

So I keep endless lists of everything, from grocery lists and library books to daily to-do lists and lists of upcoming events. I keep a list of possible menu items for dinners and school lunches. I leave myself written reminders to answer emails or schedule appointments or pay bills. If it's not written down, I will forget it.

That's part of the reason I started a blog. To chronicle and to remember all of my experiences in raising two very interesting children. I read back through my blog archives recently and was surprised by how difficult some parts of my life were, and how funny other parts were. Time has dulled my memory to a vague series of highlights, and it's so easy to forget the details. I don't want to forget.

I don't want to forget the hilarious lullaby James composed for Evan, telling him to go to sleep because his shirt was so beautiful. I don't want to forget the time that Evan refused to put on his shorts because they were too distinguished. I don't want to forget the way that James picks up and pockets every interesting rock he comes across, "interesting" being a very subjective term.

I don't want to forget Evan asking me to pick him up this morning. "What for?" I asked. He smiled and said, "For everything! For hugs and kisses!" And then I picked him up and he snuggled into my chest and it instantly became one of those moments I never want to forget.

I can't trust my human memory that much anymore. But I can trust what I write here. So this post is a reminder to myself to write more, to capture these moments, these swiftly fleeting childhood days, and through recording and remembering, to appreciate them more.

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happy birthday, evan

Today feels like summer. The cottonwood trees are spreading their fluff all over the neighborhood, making it look as if it's snowing, and I wonder whether you will ever really see snow on your birthday. Maybe one day you'll travel to Australia or Chile or the Himalayas and celebrate a winter birthday.

One of your most prominent traits to develop over the last year is your sense of adventure. It's easy for me to picture you climbing mountains or crossing the outback when you get older, because those things aren't so very far from diving fearlessly off the side of the couch or charging off on your own in strange places.

Your independence and your will have continued to grow this year. Now more than ever you are doing things for yourself, and you are as insistent as always that you do things your way. You have a very un-toddler-like quality of being incredibly determined and single-minded, frustratingly so.

But that doesn't mean that you don't still need us. Because no matter how stubborn and determined and aggressive you can be, you are in equal measure affectionate and loving. One of my favorite times of the day is naptime, when we lay quietly together in my bed and you pet my hand and I get to watch you fall asleep. Every day.

One of the things I love best about you is how free you are with your emotions. You still scream, oh yes you do, about all kinds of things, but when you're not unhappy, you are very, very happy. You are the most generous child I've ever seen when it comes to spontaneous acts of affection -- unsolicited hugs and kisses and snuggles and I love yous. It melts me every time.

You've grown delightfully silly in your third year. In fact, it's hard for me to tell how much you really know, because counting and reciting the alphabet and rhyming are games where you like to send yourself into fits of giggles giving wrong answers. But just when I start to think I've got a backwards child who can't even count to five without mistakes, you count perfectly to twelve. You like to keep us on our toes, in all kinds of ways.

Your creativity is blossoming, guided by your brother, who you are very easily frustrated with and angered by, but without whom you're a little lost sometimes. You and your brother devise clever games in which your identities are always changing, in which the adventures never end. Your imagination has grown in leaps and bounds this year. It's incredible to watch.

Something that puzzles me about you is how easily you identify with the bad guys. Your favorite part of The Wizard of Oz was the flying monkeys, you've requested a Darth Vader cake for your birthday, and you're the villian as often as you're the hero in games with your brother. You like the bad guys because they are big and strong. I hope to help you learn over time that strength isn't always physical.

We play a game at meals, at almost every meal these days, in which I tell you and your brother to stop eating, because I don't want you to grow any bigger. This is the only trick that has ever worked more than once to convince you to eat more than a few bites of dinner. "Look, Mom!" you tease, "I'm growing!"

"No!" I say. "You two are growing too fast! Stop growing! I want you to be my babies a little longer!"

And you think I'm kidding.

I love you, darling boy. Happy birthday, today and for many years to come.

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six years

Dear James,

Today you are six years old. It seems that every year, birthdays get more and more exciting. (I hate to tell you that that feeling won't last forever, so enjoy it while you can.) You are a boy who is always full of ideas, and you've been planning this birthday very carefully, from composing lengthy lists of presents you hope to get, to requesting blueberry-banana pancakes for breakfast, to drawing diagrams of what kind of birthday cake I should make for you this weekend.

It's hard to sum you up this year. The change from 5 to 6 has been less drastic than any other year before this one. The best way I can describe it is simply to say you've grown up. I know how vague that sounds, but it's accurate. You've grown taller (though still as skinny as ever -- I bet you could still wear your brother's pants), you've matured, you're more confident and patient, you've progressed academically and emotionally. You are the easy one -- in many ways I feel as though our parenting work is mostly done, like even if all we did for the next 12 years was feed you and clothe you, you'd still be your bright, cheerful, energetic, clever self. This is especially true because of your ever-growing independence.

I wasn't sure you could get more independent, but I shouldn't be surprised. From the minute you were mobile you were trying to do everything yourself. Now you wake up in the morning and fix yourself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. You dress yourself, you make your bed, you do the chores I ask you to do. You mostly entertain yourself. You read to yourself. You play nicely with your brother. Since your shoes are velcro, it seems you need your parents for almost nothing on a daily basis. I can live with this.

One of my favorite things about this year is that you've grown into good taste in music. How happy am I now that you're singing the Ramones around the house instead of Dora songs? The happiness can't be measured. And you, who I worried wouldn't really love music because you didn't, for a long time, enjoy music at all, whether it was people singing or music being played, but you've proven that my fears were unfounded. It was so much fun seeing you rock out when we played Rock Band over Christmas vacation, seeing you have so much fun just singing.

Over the last year, your brother has become one of your best friends. He follows your lead, and from you he has learned to develop an amazing imagination. The two of you invent all kinds of pretend games, in which you are Luke and Leia, or Ninja Turtles, or Pokemon trainers. You build lego spaceships and lego cars and lego who-knows-what together. You're a good role model for him -- I hope the two of you will always be so close.

I could go on, and on, and on, about what a wonderful boy you are, and how lucky we are to have you in our family. You are still flaky -- you misplace things all the time, and you still spend plenty of time in your own little universe, where sometimes we have a hard time reaching you when we need you. Maybe I'm biased, considering where you got these habits from, but I think they're endearing most of the time.

Happy birthday, sweet baby James. May this be only one of many, many happy years ahead of you.

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'tis the season: holiday books

We are a bookish family. Okay, well, to be precise, I am a very bookish person, and I'm doing my best to pass on a love of reading to my boys. One of my favorite things about being a parent is introducing my kids to things I loved as a child (and still love). I had so much fun reading Charlotte's Web to James, and I am waiting impatiently to start reading him the Little House books. But it's also a ton of fun to discover new books together with my children.

This year we've started a holiday book collection. We've always had holiday books, but this year we've collected them in one place and plan to make it a tradition to read our favorites every year. Below the fold, I've compiled a list of some of our favorite holiday and winter children's books, both classics and new favorites.

One of our favorite children's authors in general, ever since Greg's mom got us one of her books years ago, is Jan Brett. Her illustrations are intricate and beautifully drawn, and are wonderful accompaniments to fun stories. The Hat and The Mitten are two of our favorite winter stories, so I was excited to see that this year, she'd come out with a version of The Night Before Christmas. I've been wanting to buy a copy of this poem for the boys, and when I saw Brett's at the bookstore, I knew it was the one. The classic Clement Moore poem with Brett's illustrations is a beautiful combination.

Next on the list, a modern classic, How The Grinch Stole Christmas. This is one of the rare children's books that I can read over and over without tiring of it. Which I had to do when Evan went through a Grinch phase a few months ago, and and requested it every day at naptime, and sometimes bedtime, for god only knows how many days. But the magic of Dr. Seuss is that the rhyming and nonsense words are fun even for grown-ups to say, and until you really memorize it, you have to pay attention for the trickier phrases. And the story can't be beat -- a Scrooge-like cave-dwelling creature learns the true meaning of Christmas just in time to redeem himself. We also love the movie (the original movie, that is, not the horrible Jim Carrey remake), which is very faithful to the book.


Another new favorite, also introduced to us by Greg's mom, is Olive, the Other Reindeer. What could be cuter than a little dog who thinks she's a reindeer? She tries her hardest to help Santa on Christmas Eve -- and succeeds, too, in unexpected ways. This one is really a lot of fun to read, and popular with the kiddos, because that dog is just SO cute.



The last book I'm going to mention is another family favorite, The Polar Express. Haven't seen the movie (sources tell me it's not worth it) but the book is one of those magical Christmas stories that kids and adults love. The illustrations are beautiful, and to combine the Santa myth with a train? Genius, as far as kids are concerned.

And that's it for the holiday books we own, though I have to note two of my favorite Christmas stories, both of which I'm trying to find in children's versions with illustrations I like (tricky, because I'm kind of picky about things like that): The Nutcracker, and A Christmas Carol. Actually, I hope to eventually start a tradition someday of going to see each of those live (we nearly went to see A Christmas Carol at a local theater over the weekend, but it turns out that even with the family discount, we still couldn't afford it), but it won't hurt to have books as well. As I always say (and as Greg always disagrees with me), there's no such thing as "too many books".

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'tis the season: favorite holiday movies

Things are getting awfully Christmasy around here. I think I mentioned already that we have our Christmas tree. We have been watching all of our favorite Christmas movies, reading our favorite Christmas books, and listening to our favorite Christmas music. Yesterday we even braved the germ-ridden masses at the mall to go Christmas shopping (seriously, I hate the mall under normal circumstances, but in the middle of winter with all the season's illnesses beginning, and no parking for miles, and the terrible Christmas Muzak everyone plays... I actually feel really proud that we managed to buy three things on our list. You know, out of the twenty or so things we needed to buy). So far I've refrained from making Christmas cookies, but I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out -- I'm feeling so festive this year! This is the first year that both of our kids have been old enough to get into it, so it's really been a lot of fun.

I thought I'd do some posts on some of our favorite ways to get into the Christmas spirit. Today, movies. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I've never actually seen any grown-up Christmas movies all the way through. No It's a Wonderful Life, no Miracle on 34th Street... but I'm a pro on the kiddie flicks. Sure, everyone knows the Grinch and A Christmas Story and Rudolph and A Charlie Brown Christmas, all of which we love and watch every year, too, but my favorite kids' Christmas movies don't get that kind of attention. I can't decide if this list will illustrate to you my awesome taste, my '80s nostalgia, or my elitist preference for Jim Henson originals, or all three.

My favorite Christmas movie of all time is pictured on the right: A Muppet Family Christmas. Not to be confused with The Muppet Christmas Carol, this is a fabulous Henson muppet-fest from the '80s featuring a ton of holiday songs, and just about every muppet known to man, from the original Muppets to the Sesame Street characters to the Fraggles. I have an old VHS tape of this which is starting to wear out from watching it so many times. If there were a soundtrack from this movie, I think it would be the only Christmas music I'd listen to. I don't think it would be possible to overemphasise my love for this movie. If I were only allowed to watch one holiday movie for the rest of my life, it would be this one.

Jim Henson did a couple of other Christmas movies too, one of them being Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas. The only official Muppet who makes an appearance in this one is Kermit, as the narrator. The story is about cute little Emmet Otter and his mother each trying to give the other a special Christmas in spite of the fact that they are poor and fatherless. The music is a bit countrified (there really is a Muppet jugband) but it is a sweet story, one I try to watch every year.

The third Henson Christmas movie I love is The Christmas Toy. Another tale narrated by Kermit, this one bears some similarities to Toy Story in the idea of toys coming to life when their owners leave the room, and also the idea of a toy's fear of being replaced as the favorite toy, though this one doesn't play out exactly the same as Toy Story (i.e., Toy Story did not rip off the plot of The Christmas Toy, only some key elements of the story). This stars a lovable (but kind of dumb) tiger named Rugby, who is a toy I would totally love to own one day.

I'll finish off my movies post with a clip from A Muppet Family Christmas. This is a scene that was in the original but didn't make it onto the DVD release for reasons of music copywriting. Enjoy! And feel free to share your own favorites in comments!

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thankful

In the aftermath of Thanksgiving, while approaching a comatose state what with the full belly and the warm house and the utter satisfaction of having a relaxing holiday, I thought a bit about the things I'm thankful for, with the intention of writing the requisite Thanksgiving blog post.

But it's hard. It's not hard to think of things I'm thankful for, but it's hard to find the balance between sappy and trivial. Do I write a serious blog post about how grateful I am that I live in America at all, instead of, say, Iraq or Sudan or a hundred other places? Or do I take those things for granted like every other day of the year and write a fluffy post about how thankful I am for bands like Stars because they're just so totally great? Do I try to be brief and poignant, or do I let myself ramble because there's so much to be thankful for? (As if me not rambling is even a realistic option...)

So I'm trying to incorporate a little bit of everything. Especially the rambling.

I'm thankful that I have a loving, generous, fun family, but I'm especially thankful that they're the sort of family who pretends that my questionable cheesecake is good, despite the greasy crust and the slightly-too-much-sour-cream taste.

I'm thankful for a boyfriend who loves me, supports me, and makes me laugh, but I'm especially thankful that he's the sort of boyfriend who washes all of the dishes from Thanksgiving dinner.

I'm thankful that I have children who are funny, beautiful, well-behaved little geniuses, but I'm especially thankful that they're the sort of children who can patiently and cheerfully endure a four-hour car ride home (a ride that's normally two and a half hours) when their parents get tired of the highway traffic and decide to explore some back roads.

I'm thankful for a sister and brother-in-law who give us their kitchen hand-me-downs, who play (and play and play and play) with our children, and who think to bring along a decadent, artistic Thanksgiving cake from a fantastic little bakery in the town where they live.

I'm thankful for a mother who hosts us, feeds us, changes all the diapers and lets me sleep in.

I'm thankful for the little quirks in life -- of all the people I grew up with and have known in that small town over the years, I wouldn't have predicted that I'd be keeping in touch, much less going out for coffee and having a really fun time, with the neighborhood boy who spent years crawling through the shrubberies with his G.I. Joes.

Reading Dave Eggers' What is the What, a novel about a Sudanese refugee based on a real story, makes me exceedingly thankful that I had the good fortune to be born into relative prosperity, in a time and place where I can't even imagine surviving a fraction of what some people in this world live through every day. That I have so many things to be thankful for in the first place is something to be thankful for. As much as I can complain about the terrible twos or other trivial annoyances of day-to-day life, it's important to remember to keep it all in perspective.

Well, it looks like I came out on the sappy, rambly side of things. (Is anyone out there surprised?) I hope all of my American friends had a good holiday, and took a moment to think of all the reasons you have to be thankful in your life.

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two weeks

I can't believe I haven't posted in almost two weeks. Oops! Sometimes life gets in the way of this blogging stuff.

I've decided, though, that it's finally time to write about James' kindergarten experience, now that he's been a kindergartener for two weeks. Of course I have no photos, because it has just never occurred to me to bring the camera to the bus stop, so words will have to suffice.

Are any of you surprised when I say that he totally, completely loves kindergarten? We all love it. And can you guess what his favorite subject is? Keep in mind that my child is half-monkey, sees the entire world as a jungle gym, and hardly ever stops running. Now can you guess? His second favorite subject is less obvious, though not surprising (at least to me): he loves math, which ranks second to gym only because they don't officially have science in kindergarten, though math is pretty close. In third place is the library. (See? He's not 100% Greg. There's a little of me in there too.)

We found out on the first day of school that the little girl who lives two doors down from us is in his kindergarten class. Not only does she have as much energy as James, but she likes Star Wars! What more could a boy ask for? She is blonde and excitable and rambunctious and reminds me of a girl of similar description who James used to be good friends with.

He goes to school for almost three hours in the afternoon, but including the bus, he's gone for almost three and a half hours every day. I initially thought that I'd rather have him in morning kindergarten, so that I could have the mornings with Evan and the afternoons with James while Evan napped, as when he was in preschool, but the afternoon time is working out pretty nicely for me anyway. James leaves, Evan naps, and I have uninterrupted free time. It makes me giddy. I'll have to post another day about what I've been doing with that free time.

Kindergarten has a very different feel from preschool. Mostly for me, I imagine. I was so involved with James' preschool, I knew the teacher and all of the parents, I assisted there on a regular basis, I dropped him off and picked him up there and knew the daily routine and basically knew exactly what he was doing in his time away from me. He was gone, but it didn't feel like he was that far away.

And kindergarten? All of a sudden there are hours of my son's life about which I know virtually nothing. And with James, sometimes it's like pulling teeth to get the details. I've heard some songs, he's brought home a couple of worksheets, I've heard details here and there, but I still feel like I am missing out on a lot. For someone who's physically been with the kid almost 24/7 for almost 6 years, it's a weird feeling to watch him embarking on his own life, and knowing that I will never get that closeness back. He'll only grow further and further away from here on out.

Not that that's a bad thing. It's fascinating to watch him develop into an independent person, to find out which details he's eager to tell me and which I have to pry out of him, to see him becoming more confident, more sure of himself (I hadn't thought that was possible, but apparently there was room to grow even for James). One of the best parts of parenting has been seeing the results of all my labor, and realizing that this person, this wonderful child he's become, was really worth all of the sleepless nights and endless diapers and emotional meltdowns (both his and mine).

Today, two weeks into kindergarten, he ran ahead of me to the bus, and climbed aboard without a hug, without a wave, without a backwards glance. And I smiled to see him go, because that is James: diving into everything headfirst, with confidence and excitement, and I love him for it.

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