Thirteen years of marriage is…
A Tale of Two Beds
Thump. I jumped up from the couch, startled by the noise. Running into my younger son’s room, I saw him on the floor. “Are you okay?” I asked. “No,” he said. He says “no” when he actually means yes and he seemed okay.
But I wasn’t okay. He had climbed out of his crib.
Happy Third Birthday, LIttle Bird
My younger son has always been little, despite wanting to be big. He shoved his way into the world three-and-a-half weeks early, being born at a mere five and a half pounds. He didn’t pass zero percent on the growth chart until he was a year old. And he’s the baby of the family. So my nickname for him is Little Bird.
Little Bird just turned three years old.
In the spirit of Sandra Boynton’s classic board book Little Pookie, where the small pig’s mom tells them 10 things she knows about them, here are ten things I know about Little Bird (as written to him, as in the book) on the occasion of his third birthday:
Selecting the Choices Behind Our Children’s “Normal”
“You’re going to see [classmate] today. You should really use sunflower butter,” I say to my kids, who are making “peanut butter” and jelly sandwiches. My older son has a classmate who is severely allergic to nuts, so I’m being cautious.
“Sunflower butter!” my three year old exclaims, not being put off at all by the change in PB&J plans. When I was a kid, I wouldn’t have any idea what sunflower butter was, much less accept it out of hand. Yet, for them, switching is perfectly normal.
When Boredom Equals Love
“Goombas don’t have arms,” my three year old’s small voice declared from beside me.
Sitting on the floor next to his bed, I replied, “Hon, please go to sleep.” As fascinating as the anatomy of Mario brothers’ video game characters are, it was not a conversation I wanted to have that moment. I just wanted him to go to sleep.
What My Children Have Taught Me About Being Present
“See, see!” my three year old demanded from the backseat of the car.
We were listening to a favorite album by a local children’s band; he wanted to see the album cover displayed on my phone. It wasn’t the right cover at all – my computer had mashed it up with the listing for a subpar Arcade Fire album. So instead of a happy looking singer in front of bright colors, the cover was of overly dramatic white marble statues in front of a black background.
“Hun, it hasn’t changed in the last two minutes,” I said. I had showed to him just a moment earlier. “Besides, it’s not even the right cover.”
The Power of a Bike Ride
“You can do it! You’re almost at the top!” I screamed as I huffed and puffed my way up a huge hill, following my five-year-old on his bike. A cookie stand with fresh-baked treats awaited us at the top. But first we had to get there.
A Boy and His Worm
“We have to tell my dad he can’t buy those worms,” I told my husband, panic rising in my voice.
As we were on the way to a fishing trip, this was a major problem. New plan – obtain white bread for our hooks instead of night crawlers. No worms would be harmed in this outdoors experience.
Normally, my kids are fine with the more gruesome parts of the “circle of life.” They know where meat comes from and we’ve seen deer hit by cars and trains. Worms shouldn’t be a problem.
But this was different.
How My Mom Inspired Me to Support My Kids’ Love of Music
Honk! the saxophone squawked as I held it just inches from my face. I winced. My five year old blew into the mouthpiece again, but thankfully didn’t produce any sound this time around.
“You made a noise! That’s great!” I cheered.
I flashed back to when I first started playing the saxophone in fifth grade. I was much older than my kids are now, but I’m pretty sure my initial efforts weren’t any better. My mom talked me out of taking up trombone – I understand why now.
Why I Don’t Mind Anymore that My Son Prefers My Husband
“I want daddy,” my older son (nicknamed Sprout) responded when asked who he wanted to read bedtime stories with. In the past, I would have been choking back tears. These days, I feel differently.