Guess Who’s 5?

I love this goofy kid!! Oliver is such a sweet, funny, smart guy. He is kind to his brothers and is so helpful to me. He makes friends so easily and loves to laugh and play. Some of the things that stand out to me about him at this stage are:

--He gets dressed all by himself and picks out his own outifts (his style trends towards “comfort first”, with his fleece sweatpants in constant rotation)

--He hums to himself while he rides his bike. This just melts my heart. It is so cute, it is exactly what is meant by a “flow experience”-- he is totally immersed and completely happy.

--He loves to write and draw pictures. He isn’t quite reading yet but he likes to sound out words that he is trying to write. He likes reading Richard Scary’s Cars & Trucks & Things That Go or the I SPY books with Elliot. It makes me so happy to hear them giggling together in their room.

We are having a birthday party for him on Saturday. It’s an outdoor party (a bike parade) and it looks like it might rain, so we may have to take the party indoors, to the church gym. He LOVES riding his bike so I thought this would be a fun idea. But he has been telling everyone he is having a Monster Truck birthday party. So I think I’ll do a Monster Truck cake.

Since today is his birthday I told him he could do ANYTHING he wanted (as long as it was safe and not inherently unhealthy…so no candy for lunch, sorry). So he ate chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, swiss cheese and lemonade for lunch and we’ll see what’s on the menu for dinner (Extra Cheddar Goldfish??? I hope not!) He also decided that what he wanted to do more than anything was to watch TV for most of the day. (My dad pointed out that this choice may fall into the “inherently unhealthy” category.) It’s raining and cold outside so there aren’t too many other compelling options.  Actually, he wants to do an art project now, so I’m going to wrap up this post.

The President of Oliver’s Fan Club (Nana) is arriving from New York this afternoon to celebrate with us.

Elliot

Yesterday Elliot said to Anwoo, "You a hot dog. I eat you wis ketchup." I laughed because I thought it was meant in a "you're so cute I could just gobble you up" type of way, rather than in a menacing, "watch your back, bro" way...but maybe I was wrong.

Elliot is so funny and so frustrating. We have decided that he needs to go to preschool. It is partly to give him his own "thing" and partly to keep me from losing my mind. He is going to start right away going 2 mornings a week to the preschool at the Jewish synagogue. It looks like a great program: it is small and the teachers seem very warm and nurturing and they do amazing art projects. They also work on potty training, which is nice because I have gotten nowhere with that here at home.

We haven't even started yet and I am already nervous that Elliot is going to behave like a cretin and get kicked out. I took him by to visit today and the kids were all sitting around a table politely eating their lunches. No one was wandering away to play with toys or refusing to eat their food. It was all so civilized, I can't imagine how he is going to fit in. He also has a terrible potty mouth. He says "shut up" and "stupid" at least once a day, and if he is a bad mood or tired many more times. I'm steeling myself for the sidelong glances of subtle disapproval I'm sure I'll be getting from the other parents and teachers. Oh well.

A few months ago, when we were back in Nashville, Elliot was having a hard time getting to sleep. He was talking to himself and I wrote down what I could overhear. I don't know exactly what it says about the psychological state of our 2 and a half year old, but it is pretty revealing.

"Ella's birfday. Ella's birfday"

"Mitchell...where he go? where he go?"

"stupid, dumb Mommy"

"meow, meow"

"hi baby, hi babe, hi babe. come here babe. come here hippo."

"basketball"

"whoa, dat is SCAWY"

"yup, dat is stupid"

"baby come here, baby, come Mommy."

"where is Daddy? He a work."

"It's Elliot's turn, now it's Ella's turn."

"tickle tackle, tickle tackle."

"it's really dirty. dat's a lot of dirt"

"dat's a lot of water"

"watch the rainbow"

"dat's not cool. dat not cool. why? it's stupid. yep, it's stupid."

"it's a booger. dat's not cool."

I know that is pretty random, but I wanted to write it down here so I would have that little snapshot of what he was thinking about (or at least talking about) as a 2 year old.

AnWoo

Andrew is well loved in our family. But no one loves him quite as enthusiastically as Elliot.

 

First thing in the morning Elliot runs into our room and demands, "Where's da baby? Where IS AnWoo? AHHHHHHH!! ANWOO!! Can I touch da baby?" This last request is purely rhetorical because undoubtedly he has already found the baby (in his bassinette, on the changing table or in our bed) and is busy manhandling his little brother.

Elliot is not content just to gently (or otherwise) touch the baby.  Apparently to get the full AnWoo experience he needs to sit on him, lie on him, touch him with both hands and feet, try to pick him up, or try to remove his ears (so far no luck, they seem to be firmly attached).

We’ve noticed since he was a baby that Elliot craves sensory input and physical touch. For instance, he loves to snuggle and soothes himself by rubbing his face with his blankie. So this adorable, squishy, peach-fuzzy little brother just puts him over the edge. With AnWoo he has found his ultimate sensory fix. He seems to be absolutely incapable of keeping his hands (to say nothing of his feet and mouth and body) off his little brother.  All day long I have to either put Andrew somewhere Elliot can’t get him (my sling) or repeat ad nauseum, “Elliot, not on his face!” or “Elliot, gentle touches!!” or “Give him some space.” Sheesh. It’s enough to drive ME over the edge.

 

Fortunately, AnWoo is such a sweet, mellow baby he seems to be taking it all in stride. Elliot is going to have to watch his back though, this little guy is growing fast!!

Lost and Found

 

Yesterday Elliot gave me quite a scare. I had taken all three boys with me to the elementary school to register Oliver for Kindergarten. The registration took place in the school library and was staffed by volunteers from the PTA. It was set up sort of like an assembly line. At one table they checked all your proof of residency documents, then at the next they took note of the health forms and vaccination records, etc.  They had set up an area near the front as a play area for the kids who were accompanying their parents. Oliver and Elliot ran right over and immediately started playing with the blocks.

With Andrew asleep in the stroller I started down the gauntlet of the registration bureaucracy, glad that Oliver and Elliot were otherwise occupied. Occasionally I would glance over to check on them. After a while I noticed that I couldn’t see Elliot. There were bookshelves that were just a bit taller than he, so I guessed that he was just out of my line of sight. But I excused myself from the “Home Language Survey” table anyway, just to make sure he wasn’t getting into trouble.

He wasn’t there. Oliver didn’t know where he was either.

Where was he? Had anyone seen a little boy with a blue hat with a bulldozer on it? Yes? Really? You saw him wander out the door? Really, you watched a two-year old walk right out the door by himself and didn’t think to stop him? What kind of idiot are you? [That last part was internal monologue.]

The school is made up of a number of small, one story buildings. It’s set up so that every classroom opens directly to the outside, there are no internal hallways, so when he wandered out of the library he wandered outside. I started yelling his name and scanning the crowd for him. School had just ended so there were literally hundreds of kids running around shouting and laughing, parents chatting, people everywhere, but no sign of Elliot. I starting running like a mad woman, frantically calling his name. A million different horrible scenarios played out in my head. It was so loud with all the kids running around that no one seemed to notice my distress but someone must have alerted the school officials because they tried to page him over the PA system. [Like that would have worked?!?!… oh, they want an Elliot to report to the office, I’d better march myself over there right now.]

Anyway, what happened next is evidence to me of God’s hand in my life. I got the distinct impression that he was on the playground. Admittedly, that might have been less of a spiritual prompting and more of an educated guess, but at any rate after I circled the library building I headed for the playground. Of course, I discovered there is more than one playground. I noticed at least two, both with many different play structures.  I didn’t know which way to look, my eyes darted every which way but then, in what can only be described as a miracle, I saw him.

From about 100 yards away, through the crowd, my eyes locked onto a little blue hat. It was like a moving Where’s Waldo picture, but I found him. I ran over to him and with shaking hands I scooped him up and said, “Hey Buddy, I was looking for you!” I was so relieved to find him I didn’t get mad or try to figure out a way to discipline him, I just hugged him close to me.

I love this kid so much but man, he is a challenge.

And this is why I no longer think those tacky toddler leashes are such a bad idea.

Weekend Update

I hear that it’s snowing again on the East Coast. I can’t say that I’m sorry I’m missing that. Ryan’s parents were in town this past weekend. It was so much fun to have them visit and we took full advantage of the great weather. On Saturday we went to Tilden Park in Berkeley and rode the steam train and fed celery to the animals at the Little Farm. On Sunday afternoon we went into San Francisco and walked along the Cliff Walk to the beach.

   

I love this silhouette of my family. A big wave had just knocked Elliot down. Even though I can’t see Ryan’s face, I can look at this picture and see exactly (in my mind’s eye) his expression. He is laughing as he swings a surprised and wet Elliot up out of the water.

  

On Sunday Ryan gave Andrew a blessing at church. This is sort of like a Christening, in that the child is given a name and blessing in the name of Jesus Christ, but because we don’t baptize infants there isn’t a whole ceremony. He held the baby in his arms and offered a blessing inspired by the holy spirit.  He blessed Andrew that he would develop a strong testimony of Christ, that he would have a keen intellect, a strong mind and and active body. He blessed him that he would have a long life even in a time of great transition. Although Andrew will see many changes in his lifetime, Ryan blessed him that he would not deviate from the straight and narrow path. He affirmed that Andrew is loved by his family and by his Heavenly Father. It was really a beautiful blessing.

He looked pretty cute, too. My dad picked this outfit out for him in Paris. Oh la la!

Dinner and a movie

Thank you, Costco for another awesome night on the town...I mean suburbs.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

“Some Painful Moments”

It’s been almost two weeks since Andrew was born [Well, it was 2 weeks when I started this post, now it’s been a month. One thing I don’t have much time for anymore is blogging.] Ryan wrote a little about Andrew’s birth in a previous post but I want to record my version of it, too.

Ryan wrote that I had planned to do a natural birth this time (meaning no epidural or drugs.) Actually, at first he wrote that I was “absolutely determined” to have a natural birth which I made him change to “planned to” because really, I wasn’t determined at all. He also neglected to mention that I was a total basket case at times during this pregnancy because I was so worried and scared about labor & delivery. Among my worries were that I just wouldn’t be able to do it; that I would chicken out early, or lose my resolve once it was too late, or panic and completely lose my &@#$(!, or simply have my body fail me and not be able to push the baby out and end up begging for a c-section, which is pretty much what happened with Oliver. Not the c-section, mind you, but the begging part.

In any event, when push came to shove (har, har) I DID IT! I am really proud to have joined the millions of women, including – obviously – most of our foremothers (is that a word?) who have successfully and safely given birth naturally. I am also proud to say that I didn’t lose my )@#$(@)#$*, or at least not completely.

One thing that really helped was that Ryan got on board with my plan to do a natural birth. I made him read (or at least listen to me give the highlights) of countless books on natural childbirth. Even when inwardly I was filled with doubts, he acted like it was a forgone conclusion that I would be able to do it and it would all be fine, no big deal.

I also talked to just about everyone I knew who had had a natural birth. I got some great perspectives and practical advice about labor. The most helpful tips were about relaxing EVERY muscle, from your head to your toes so that the contractions could do their thing most efficiently. Also, during contractions to focus on the baby and not on the pain—you’d think that would be pretty obvious but it’s easy to lose sight of that when you are in the thick of things.

My sister, Abby, who is a obstetrician and is also pregnant with her first baby (a girl, yea!!!!) couldn’t understand why I even WANTED to give birth naturally. I guess she’s seen enough women totally freak out in the throes of labor to make her want to avoid natural childbirth altogether. But my feeling going in to this was that birth IS natural. It is something completely awesome and almost divine that we are expressly designed to be able to do. What could be more sacred and powerful than the capacity to bring forth new life? I wanted to experience that in all its primal glory.  There are a lot of good reasons to have a natural birth but for me, it came down to a crucible of sorts. I wanted to know if I was mentally/physically tough enough. Could I overcome the pain and fear to work with my body to accomplish this thing I was designed to do? I surprised myself by carrying it off with more grace/dignity than I would have expected.

I went into early labor on Thursday morning, and by the evening my contractions were pretty regular. I went to bed and just lay on my side in the dark next to Ryan thinking about how every contraction was bringing me closer to seeing our baby. I thought about how much I already loved this baby and how interesting it would be to see him for the first time – a little person who was both a stranger and an intimate. A person who in yet unknown ways would change my life forever. I had read that the pressure of contractions massages the baby’s circulatory system and prepares him to take his first breath. That thought helped me realize that the process of labor was something we were both experiencing, a journey we were taking together. I focused on being still and calm -- relaxing and conserving my energy.

I stayed at home until my mom arrived from New York (her flight was really delayed so she didn’t get to our house until 2:30 in the morning). We left for the hospital as soon as she arrived. When we got to the hospital they checked me and thought that I was fully dilated. It turns out that after they broke my water I still had a tiny bit to go so I labored for a little while longer.

It was all pretty manageable until the pushing part…that’s what Ryan euphemistically referred to as “some painful moments.” Like hell it was!! Anyone walking the halls of Labor & Delivery would have been forgiven for thinking someone was being murdered. I screamed my head off. I am NOT a screamer. But I lost it. I cried. I shook uncontrollably. I begged for it to stop. And then it did. Andrew was born. And I was ELATED. I had endured the most intense pain and fear and emerged on the other side triumphant. It sounds cliché but it was transformative. I had breached a boundary, had pushed past what I thought I could endure and reached new ground. This little guy who had been physically a part of me for the past 9 months looked up at me in wonder through swollen eyes.  He and I had made the journey together and WE DID IT!