Mitch, you are my favorite because

Another installment in the "you are my favorite because..." birthday series.

Mitch, you are my favorite because...

You are currently my biggest fan, filling my days with "I love you's," creating art in my honor, bringing me my rice pillow, helping me cook and clean, and laying your head on my shoulder while we watch TV.

You remind my of my father and my brother.

You tolerate your position in our household with such patience and understanding. You defer to Owen when that is what you need to do, and you help Paige along when that is what you need to do.

Tonight you sobbed and sobbed because you scared Paige with your new remote control tarantula, and you felt terrible about it.

You come up with the most creative reasons for staying home from school and for coming into bed with us at night.

You have mad style, particularly when you wear your Pink Floyd tee.

You say things like, "Mommy, sometimes you are so conservative," and "I'm even psyched-er about my field trip tomorrow!"

You recognize good music and you're not afraid to sing with the headphones on.

You can charm adults without coming off phony.

You beg to wind the bobbin on my sewing machine, and you love my sewing lessons.

You cherish the things I make for you and understand that their value comes from the love put into the making.

You taught yourself to ride a two-wheeler, persisting even after tearing up one side of your face in a bad spill.

You kiss me goodbye every morning, and you're the first to greet me when I come home from work.

When you were a tiny baby, you gave me some of the most peaceful, emotional, and spiritual moments of my life as I rocked you in the dark.

I love you Snitcheroo! Happy birthday, my school-aged boy.

Hey people!!!!

It's been one of those weeks. You know the kind: those weeks when both your house air conditioning AND your car air conditioning break on the same day. And then, even though you tell your husband, "Don't let the HVAC guy bamboozle you into some maintenance contract (cause you wouldn't dream of paying to prevent problems, you'd rather just cough up 5 times more after things break), you get home and your husband tells you he had to sign the maintenance contract because blah blah blah de blah blah.

And the Olympics are over, and your DVR keeps stopping recordings just before the actual end of programs, so you don't get to see one gold medal handed out or find out what happens "Next week on The Hills." And you discover that your work pants from Spring semester are, um, snug (to put it mildly). And the fun fabric shopping trip you have planned with one of your closest friends whom you haven't spent time with in way too long gets canceled cause the damn shop is closed on Mondays.

That kind of week.

But. In the midst of all my whining this week, I did find a few moments of unexpected joy. Turns out that riding around town with the windows down, something I haven't done in a really long time, has a kind of euphoric effect on passengers. Apart from the blistering, smothering heat at stoplights, rolling along with the wind in our hair this week has been kind of fun.

I think it's because driving with the windows down makes you turn the music up, which causes you to sing along more loudly than you otherwise might, which, it seems, releases endorphins, even in toddlers. There's been much giggling and smiling in the car of late, a good bit of waving out the window, and lots and lots of singing. I'd even be as melodramatic as to say that driving with the windows down makes me feel more connected to the world.

Apparently it makes Mitch feel that way too.

Why else would he release himself from his booster seat, lean across the front seat to stick his head out the window, and holler, "Hey people!!!!!"

See? Not all bad is bad. Sometimes bad can be good.

But air conditioning is better.

Two reasons to love being a mother

Made at preschool by Mitch (the flowerpot, not the sign) :


Made by Owen after he got in trouble for being rude to me today:


Translation:
To Mom, Love Owen
I am 100% sorry about what happened. It will not happen again!

Heart in a puddle on the floor.

p.s. Don't forget to enter the contest!

Stuck in the middle

Poor Mitch. He's struggling right now. Again. I don't mean to push off his misbehavior on being a middle child, but lately I do see why he might be gunning for attention. Any attention. Good or bad.

Here's Owen: firstborn, smart, bringing home Looking Like a Learner and Terrific Tracker awards every other day (which are not so very hard to earn, incidentally), first to do every interesting thing.

Here's Paige: darling baby, only girl, doted upon not only by family but by perfect strangers, many of whom will ooh and aah at her cuteness while looking right over the head of a perfectly adorable blond haired boy.

Here's Mitch: 4 years old, having accidents at school almost every day, talking back then claiming "you broke my heart" or "it's like you don't even love me" when reprimanded, going ape wild in every public place in which we dare to step foot, falling to the ground in the middle of the road because he doesn't want to hold my hand, slapping at me when refused a request, snapping at me to get my attention, knocking both baby sister and big brother in the head for no (conscious) reason at all, screaming at me from the back seat of the car because he doesn't like the song on the radio, making gigantic messes in the playroom and refusing to tidy up...etc. etc. etc.

I know I've written about my hellfiend before. I probably even listed the some of the same out of bounds behaviors. And trust me, I am reacting to and handing down consequences for each and every incident, but lordy-me it gets exhausting. Currently the middle child is grounded from going on errands with me (that means no Target for a week. I must be really, truly mean), banned from computer games, and on the cusp of losing tv/video privileges. I have even gone so far as to consider taking away his beloved Dee Dee. And if you've met Dee Dee, you understand the extremity of such a punishment.

On the other side of things, he's also in an intense mommy-love phase, where every 5 minutes he coos "I love you sooo much," or "You're very pretty, mommy." He insists on hourly hugs, kisses, and nose rubbing and fishes for my compliments all day long: "Does my shirt look nice, mommy?" "Do you like my hair?"

The irony is--and this is true of my other children too--the qualities that drive me the craziest are also those that are most endearing to me. I'm not looking to extinguish Mitch's spunkiness or tame his stubborness. I admire his righteous indignation and his his refusal to back down without a fight. But I do require sane outings, basic respect, and a nix on the snapping at me like I'm a dog.

Truth is, I've missed him on my errands this week. Without someone to chase after, refuse to buy Icees for, and shush 4003 times in an hour, a trip to Target is almost, well...boring.

You are my favorite because

Today is Mitch's birthday, so I'm continuing my "You are my favorite because" series.

Mitch, you are my favorite because...

In our family, you are your own species. Everything about you is different, not in a black sheep way, but in very charming, unique and sometime hilarious ways. Even your physical features are singular; everyone else has dark hair and eyes (except Paige, whose eyes are smoky gray), but you are bright blond, your eyes a crisp, clear blue with a depth that exposes every emotion.

You contain not an ounce of shyness and have a way of drawing strangers to you in your friendly sincerity. You succeeded today in soliciting "Happy Birthdays" from everyone whose path we crossed, including the man working the McDonald's drive-thru. You have thoroughly charmed every adult you're close to: your teachers (and Owen's teachers), your aunts and uncles, your grandparents, my friends (especially your secret real mom, Anna).

You are affectionate and kind, but unwilling to stand by and let someone hurt you. You have faced me, hands balled into fists, eyes brimming with tears, and scolded, "I don't like the way you're treating me, Mommy." From only 6 months old, you'd beat the floor in rage when I took an object of interest away from you. In your relationship with Owen, you are the dominate one, regardless of your "little" brother status. You came home from preschool one day with a story about an older boy who'd said something mean to you. You told him, "Do not talk rudely to me." You are self-assured and forceful, but not without tenderness toward those you love, especially Paige, the apple of your eye.

And oh my lord, you say the funniest things. Some recent examples:

To dad and me when we made fun of a TV show: "You guys have a really bad attitude."

To Aunt Blair about her (actually very nice) boyfriend (said with your hand on Blair's arm): "You don't have to marry a guy like that."

To me after I asked you if you liked the bunny I sewed you for Easter: "Well, I did want that bunny, but I'm sorry. I changed my mind."

About your birthday: "Everyone in this family feels my birthday in their heart."

But my very favorite thing about you these days (as you move through an intense mommy-love phase) is the way you lean your head against me, wrap your arms around my waist, and tell me, "Mommy, I love you so, so, so, so, so, so much."

Mitch, I love you so, so, so, so, so, so much, too. Happy 4th birthday!

On your birth day:


My all time favorite picture of you (4 months old):


First birthday:


One of your last days as a three year old:

Happy Easter, happy spring

When Mitch speaks, people listen

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Three recent conversations with the tricky blonde one:

#1
Me: Your listening needs to get better, or I'll leave you home while I go shopping.
Mitch: I ain't doing that. I ain't staying home. I ain't gonna like that.
Me: Why are you saying "ain't?"
Mitch: It's just my fancy way of talking.

#2
Me: I need your help to clean up in here.
Mitch: I caaaaaan't.
Me: Yes you can. Let's go.
Mitch: I caaaaaan't.
Me: Why not?
Mitch: My brain is telling me I don't like cleaning up.

#3
Mitch (after watching Owen take cough medicine): Can I have some?
Me: No. You can't take medicine when you're not sick.
Mitch: But I had so many bless yous today. I need the bless you medicine.

A week in review

Just catching up on recording the little things I'm likely to forget, which was my purpose for starting this blog anyhow...

Wednesday (Halloween):
I always know my children are sick before I know they are sick. I could tell the minute Owen got into the car last Wednesday. His face was droopy and pale, his eyes dull and sagging. His eyes have always shown sickness clearly.

I left work early to go Trick or Treating and called John on the way home. Owen was asleep--at 6:00. I told John, "Go feel him." Yep, a fever. 102. Poor Owen. He cried and cried when Mitch, Paige and I came home with the loot. But Mitch the Witch crawled up on the couch beside Owen the should-have-been ghost and opened his bag o' loot. "Look at all the candy we got!" Yes, he said "we." Those two fight like bandits all day long, but man do they adore each other. Owen dipped his hand right in and helped himself and Mitch beamed.

Thursday:
Owen woke up acutely aware that it was November, his birthday month. After wracking our brains over what to do for a party without spending an obscene amount of money, we've decided to buck the system and have a very small get together with only 3 of Owen's good friends. I was immediately relieved, and Owen was all for it. How much more fun it will be to have good buddies around to play with rather than a crowd of kids and the chaos of a 15-child party. I'm appalled at how much places want parents to pay for a child's party these days. If we had a bigger house, we'd be pinning tails on donkeys and dropping clothespins in jars right here every year. It's gotten to be too much. So I'm refusing to do it. I'm sick of the excess.

Friday:
My niece's birthday. We went over for cake and presents, and it was fun to see my brother and sister. And the cousins, as always, were giddily gleeful to be together. My niece liked her present, and the only bump in that road was Owen's also liking her present--so much that he didn't want to leave because he hadn't played with it yet.

Saturday:
We went to the fall festival at the neighborhood elementary school (not Owen's school). The weather was amazing, 65 and sunny, and it was more fun spending money (on games and rides) knowing it was going to the school. Our jaws dropped at the difference between the donated items in the silent auction and raffle at this school and the school (in a much more affluent area) festival we went two a couple of weeks ago. Not equal. It made me sad. The DJ played "Staying Alive," and Paige found her calling: disco dancing.

Sunday:
Cleaning and resting and sewing. Fabric shopping with my mom for a bit. Perfect day.

Monday:
Paige cracked me up this morning, holding the phone up to her ear and saying, "Hi." But it's more like "Ha"; "hi" with a bit of a drawl, I suppose. She's got a few words now: hi, mama, dada, nana (banana and all other food), ni ni (night, night). I love love love one year olds. Every day is an adventure. Every day she grows in some new way. She loves to climb and explore. And, of course, every day her adventures wear me out a little bit more.

School was easy tonight. I'm off to sew again since I don't have papers to grade. I had a friend commission me to make a bundle baby for her. I'm excited that someone wants my stuff! And I'm thrilled that my friend's 2 year old loves her own bundle baby.

Here are a few stuffies I've made lately that I'm particularly proud of (I'm still a beginner, though, so forgive the crookedness of these toys):

Bundle Babies #2 and #3

Sock Dogs: Argyle and Brady

Driving me crazy

There is a word for what I do each day on my 25 minute drive home from Owen's school: Endure. I endure it. It is my least favorite part of the day, and it is a wonder I have not left my children somewhere on the side of the road. Yet.

Come, reader, take the ride with me:

2:40 pm: Join the carpool line. Mitch whines that he wants to get out of his car seat and sit up front while we wait.

2:43 pm: Give in and allow Mitch up front. Paige cries at the injustice of being left in her seat.

2:46 pm: Mitch changes the CD for the 4th time, rolls the window up and down, flips on the windshield wipers, turns the heat on full blast, and blares the radio using the stereo remote control's volume button.

2:49 pm: Approach the front of the line and ask Mitch to get buckled into his seat...seven times. Finally hiss, "Get in your seat!"

3:01 pm: Mitch climbs in his seat at the very moment the carpool worker lets Owen into the van. Owen and Mitch get tangled up as Owen tries to push past and get to his own seat. Shoving ensues.

3:03 pm: Reach the main road. Ask Owen how his day was. A mile into the drive, notice that Mitch is in his seat but not buckled.

3:05 pm: Owen asks to stop at McDonald's for a drink. I say no. Owen whines that he's thiiiiiirrrrrsssty! I say no. Owen whines and whine and whines. I turn the radio up a notch.

3:06 pm: Owen says he's car sick.

3:07 pm: Owen says he's "really serious" and needs to get out of his seat to lie in the floor. I say, "Get the bucket."

3:08 pm: Owen argues that he can't throw up in the bucket because we might need it for the beach next summer. He begs to lie on the floor. I tell him, "Get the bucket."

3:09 pm: A groaning, simpering Owen threatens to barf on the seat if he isn't allowed to lie down. I say, "GET. THE. BUCKET."

3:10 pm: Owen says he has to pee sooooo bad. I tell him he has to wait.

3:11 pm: Mitch says he has to pee.

3:12 pm: Paige starts to cry.

3:15 pm: Owen takes his shoes off, props his feet on the back of Mitch's seat and shrieks, "Smell my stiiiiinky feet!" Hilarity ensues.

3:16: Hilarity escalates.

3:17: "Smell my stinky feet" degenerates into "smell my poop." I remain calm. I ask nicely for the boys to tone down the noise.

3:19 pm: Mitch screams at the top of his voice when Owen rubs his stinky feet on Mitch's head. I lay out the first threat: bedroom lock down for half an hour after we get home.

3:21 pm: Mitch screams again to see if I mean it. Punishment imposed. Loud, whiny protests ensue.

3:22 pm: Owen screams when Mitch kicks a shoe backwards into Owen's seat. I turn, glare, and say, "Are you trying to get a time out, too?" The answer, "No," is spoken through a suppressed smile. Seething ensues.

3:24 pm: Mitch screams when Owen throws the shoe back. I lay down second threat: no TV all afternoon.

3:25 pm: Mitch emits a squeal that is just quieter than a scream to annoy me while evading further punishment.

3:27 pm: Ask Owen if he has homework. He answers, "I have one poopy-doopy homework."Mitch cackles. Hilarity reaches epic proportions. Noise level in the car becomes unbearable to anyone over the age of 8.

3:28 pm: At a stoplight, shoot the death-glare over my shoulder and growl, "Guys. I have asked you over and over to calm down. Now DO IT."

3:29 pm: Muffled hilarity ensues.

3:30 pm: Arrive home and ask Owen to carry his book bag inside. Owen whines that his book bag is tooooo heaaaaavy.

3:31 pm: Stand outside the car holding the 25-pound baby while coaxing Mitch out of the driver's seat of the van, where he is flicking the headlights and yanking the seat belts.

3:32 pm: Pee a little when Mitch leans on the horn, scaring the bejeesus out of me.

3:33 pm: Drag Mitch from the car. Notice Owen walking into the house sans book bag.


This is the scenario every single day. In fact, this is a run down of a relatively good day.

So when you happen to look up in the afternoon and notice that it is 2:45 pm (Eastern time), pity me, good readers. Pity me and pray for the lives of my children.

Part Three: The Snitch

I call him the blond sheep of the family. Apart from his tow head, he has many other ways of distinguishing himself from the brunettes in our family. He's the sassiest by far, the most self-assured, the least ingratiating. He doesn't need the attention and validation that Owen yearns for. He mastered self-care abilities (getting dressed, pouring drinks, bathing himself, putting on socks and shoes) at a startlingly young age. Mitch faces the world with bravado, and I have no doubt that he will plant his flag wherever he pleases.

His was my only planned pregnancy (yeah, we're just careless like that), but he wasn't conceived at exactly the ideal time. We'd hoped for a summer birth to avoid the messiness of turning my courses over to a substitute, but gosh damn we're fertile, and Mitch was made on our first try. So he was a March baby. Two months shy of the goal. Troublemaker from the start.

His birth was enormously different from Owen's, whose arrival was somewhat violent and traumatic. My c-section with Mitch was planned, but I went into labor 2 days before the scheduled date (troublemaker--see?). Still, his birth was very calm and controlled. I went to the hospital; they slowed my contractions; the doctor came; they prepped me for surgery; out came Mitch. I felt in charge from start to finish. I knew what to expect. All went smoothly. I even got to hold him in recovery. When I remember Mitch's birth, the salient feeling is peacefulness.

Going from one child to two didn't phase me much. I expected to feel overwhelmed and manic, bleary and helpless, but Mitch (rather misleadingly) was a very agreeable newborn. He fell asleep easily, took long naps, ate well. I joyfully witnessed the brotherhood unfolding between him and Owen, who accepted the role of big brother with aplomb and never fretted much about the sudden appearance of his fuzzy-headed rival.

I experienced the second-child honeymoon, a confidence and calm that I hadn't felt with Owen, an ability to trust myself and my baby, the wisdom to see that the best thing to do is simply the thing that will work best in that moment. The greatest advantage to being a second-time mom is knowing that all the difficult phases will pass. With Owen, I felt mired in every wrong turn. If he went through a spell of waking more frequently or refusing to nurse, I was sure I'd messed him up forever. With Mitch, I knew that there would be bad weeks and good weeks. (Well...good days. I'm not sure I've ever actually experience a whole week of goodness.)

Like many second-time moms, though I wasn't consumed with him, wasn't spilling over with the love and devotion of a new mother, I enjoyed Mitch's infancy more. It ebbed and flowed, a gentle tide instead of a tsunami.

In some ways, being a mother of two felt like my true initiation into parenthood. I don't mean that mothers of one are lesser parents, but as someone from a family of six, raising children meant juggling, mediating, stretching myself and my resources. When I took on the challenge of nurturing more than one and succeeded, I felt like I'd arrived. I loved having two. I relished their interactions; I was moved to the core by their brotherly bond. Our family felt whole and balanced. I proclaimed myself finished with childbearing.

Then, one afternoon in February of 2006, with Mitch one month from 2 years old and weaned for more than a year, I felt the sensation of let down when a book I was carrying brushed against my breast. And I spoke aloud to an empty room. And I said, "Oh shit."

ISO: The Blond Boy I Once Loved

Mitch starts preschool tomorrow, and, as he puts it, "I'm so exciting." I'm looking forward to some semi-quiet time as long as Paige naps for more than 15 minutes and I don't have too many errands to run or papers to grade and nobody calls me and the dishes and laundry fairy drops by.

Last year, Mitch was the sweetheart of the 2 year old class. Nearly every time I spoke to his teacher, she'd gush about how sweet he was and how polite, and I'd walk away beaming, inwardly smug at what a fantastic job I'd done raising a gentle, well-mannered young man.

Well, if his adorableness was my doing, I must have really screwed things up since then, because lately, my darling Mitch has been usurped by bizarro-Mitch, an evil twin I like to call "Gritch." Here are just a few of the not-at-all-polite phrases Gritch has uttered over the past 2 months:

"If you say that again, I'm going to mess up this whole place" (to the Target employee who warned Gritch he might pinch his fingers in the check-out counter's conveyor belt if he didn't put his hands down)

"I don't really feel like it" (to Mommy when she reminded him to say thank you to a little girl who shared a toy with him)

"I think...nothing" (to the teacher assistant at the preschool open house when she asked him what toys he liked to play with)

"If you do that to me, I'm gonna walk out of this house" (to Mommy and Daddy when they were explaining to Owen what being grounded meant (because he asked, not because he was grounded))

"I don't want it" (to the kind jewelry store lady who tried to give him a small helicopter toy)

"........." (to the kind jewelry store lady when Mommy reminded him to say "thank you anyway")

"No, sir! That's not for you" (to the boy at Owen's soccer practice who tried to use Gritch's dinosaur stompers but had them rudely snatched away)

"If you say that again, I'll spank your bottom" (to Mommy when she told Gritch he had to eat his sandwich before getting any chips)

Bottom line, the boy is the anti-sweet right now. I'm fully expecting this message on the answering machine tomorrow when I get home from my morning meeting at school:

"Hi, this is Gritch's teacher. Can you come get him? He's become completely insufferable kthnx."

But maybe, just maybe, the phenomenon of "good for everyone but mommy" will descend upon Gritch and magically transform him back into the giggly, happy, charming boy he once was, at least during school hours. Cause I have a feeling the seasoned Mrs. J isn't going to fall for Gritch's standard response to getting in trouble, pictured below:

High Fives

Indulge me this evening as I hand out some high fives to my kids for the things they are doing lately that make me proud. Starting with the oldest:

Bailey:
She came home aglow with pride (and sweat) today because she completed a 2 mile run, without walking any of it, at track practice. She joined the cross country team at school only 2 weeks ago, and this her first experience with running. So a 2 mile run was quite an accomplishment for her, especially in 100 degree weather.

Owen:
On the top of the list for Owen is how well he's doing in Kindergarten. Apart from (and in spite of) his noise phobia, he is absolutely thriving at school. His first progress report was outstanding, and he gets into the car every day with so much enthusiasm and zeal. He seems to be forming some real friendships and is taking so much pride in his work. It does a mommy's heart good to see him doing well and feeling good about himself. He's working hard to be better about his fear, too. He told me last week that he managed to get through the start of morning announcements without covering his ears, which I know took a great deal of resolve and even courage.

Mitch:
Sigh. Mitch. He's such the rabble rouser lately, some days I have to work really hard to find positive ways to encourage him. But his big accomplishment this month is potty training, late as it may be (he's 3 and a half). As I have surely mentioned, he's been halfway trained for a year now but had recently been heading backwards rather than forwards, which was frustrating to say the least. So last Sunday night, while changing a particularly disgusting Pull-up, I decreed that, come morning, we were done with the darn things. He'd go commando or wear underwear, but Pull-ups were only for bedtime.

For 2 days we stayed home, and he ran around in a long shirt with nothing on underneath, since I knew he wouldn't go on the floor. And he didn't. After those 2 days were up, he asked to put his pants back on (poor kid) and save a few minor accidents has been doing great ever since. (I guess I should have laid down the law a little sooner, huh?) So I'm proud of him for getting it together before forfeiting the $200 deposit for the preschool class he had to potty trained to enter.

Paige:
That baby is so. darn. patient. Since Owen started school, she has spent a whole lot of time in the car and running errands. Our routine lately has been morning nap for Paige, lunch, errands, and then straight to get Owen (a 25 minute drive each way plus about 20 minutes in the carpool line). So she's out for nearly 4 hours a day, and rarely does she fuss about it. She takes her afternoon nap in the car, wakes up on the way home from school, and happily babbles to her brothers for the rest of the drive. She's an ideal third child in that respect. She's also starting to "talk" a little bit. We've heard her say (or at least very nearly say) "mama" and "melon" and "uh-oh." Smarty pants.

It's been a big year for all of us. Coming up on Paige's first birthday in October feels like a milestone for our family as much as it is for her. Her birth was a shake-up for us, of course, and was the first of many changes in our lives: new baby, new schools, new jobs, new family routines (with John working at home now). I am starting to feel settled in to all of this change, and it feels good. So yay for all of us and high fives all around.

He is His Brother's Keeper. And Maimer. But Mostly His Keeper.

The sibling love runneth deep in this house. That is, it runneth when they aren't hitting, biting, snatching, yelling, pushing, and tackling each other. But I can live with the maiming (even as frequently as it happens) because of what runs beneath that: the very real, very endearing, and very complex love my children have for one another.

Tonight while John, Paige, and I were finishing up dinner, Owen and Mitch were playing tug-o-war with a jump rope in the family room. Of course, eventually, Owen tried the old "let go while the other person is pulling with all his might" trick and Mitch went flying. He fell against the brick hearth, scraping and bruising his side pretty badly. Mitch is usually a stoic little guy, so when we heard his pained howl and Owen's frantic "I'm sorry, Mitch! I'm sorry!" we knew he was really hurt.

Owen looked on, his brow furrowed in sincere concern, as we iced Mitch's bruise and wiped his tears, and he told Mitch he was sorry a few more times. He kept eying us warily, waiting for a punishment, until I finally told him it was okay. We knew it was an accident. We knew he hadn't meant to hurt Mitch.

After calming everyone down, I went about my 7:00 business: dishes, baby bathing, counter wiping, next-day-lunch making. I could see Owen at the kid-sized table in the family room, occupied with drawing (a common sight in our house) and Mitch on the couch with Dee Dee (his beloved blankie), sucking his fingers in post-accident recuperation. A few minutes later I overheard Owen telling Mitch he'd made something for him; then he handed his little brother the notes in the photo above and quietly explained to him what the words said.

The affection my children show for one another is, without a doubt, the best thing about parenting siblings. Nothing is more gratifying than to know that those I love best in the world are cherished nearly as much by other people. Every morning, every single morning, Mitch's chin wobbles when he wakes up and realizes that Owen is already at school. And every day, Mitch asks from about 10:00 on if it's time to pick Owen up yet. On Saturdays, Owen, the early riser, begs to be allowed to wake Mitch up, and if I tell him no, he makes up excuses to go into their room, clearly plotting to "accidentally" wake him.

Tonight Paige walked (well, stumbled) across the family room behind her push toy for the first time. The boys' excitement at this feat and their cheers and hair ruffling congratulations afterward had Paige beaming. I swear I could almost see an aura of love and admiration around her; she was fairly aglow with it. I've posted before about how heartwarming the boys' adoration of Paige is, but every time I witness it, it bowls me over again. At times like those, I imagine that Paige will always hold a special place in the family, in the sibling order. The boys will always dote on her, encourage her, help her along, and she will bask in their affection, thrive in it.

Before sitting down to write this post, I peeked in at Owen and Mitch, asleep their beds--twin beds that they've pushed together so they can sleep next to each other. When I left after putting them to bed tonight, each was on his own side, tucked in neatly with plenty of space left between them. But just now, at 11:30, they had, as they do every night, migrated toward each other as they slept and were sprawled out in the middle of the bed together, limbs entwined, mouths agape, wearing expressions of pure contentment. The contentment of feeling safe and loved and close to someone who is looking out for you. Someone who looks forward to seeing you every day.

Even if it's only so he can pummel you for overstaying your turn on the computer.

Groovy, Man

I peed my pants a little...

Middle Man

All parents imagine their children in the future, what they'll be like as teens, as adults, as parents themselves. It's hard to know if the roles I see my kids settling into will stick as they get older, but I do have a pretty fixed idea of what Owen and Mitch will be like at 16 and 18. As my older sister recently predicted, "Owen will not be cool enough to hang out with Mitch." That basically sums it up. I can imagine Mitch peeling out of the high school parking lot in some sputtering old sports car with Owen riding shotgun, shouting, "Slow DOWN! You're gonna get a TICKET!"

We call Mitch "the blond bombshell" (bombshell more in the "ka-boom " sense than in the "foxy mama" sense). He's high energy and full o' sass, a personality that childcare experts like to call "spirited" and that I like to call "obnoxious." He is fearless, loud, funny, brave, smart, and capable. He is full of confidence and curiosity. In our family, it's not only his bravado that stands out; he also has his own set of physical features: clear blue eyes and blond hair, Malibu bronze skin in the summer. The rest of us have dark hair and eyes, and resemble one another much more closely.One night when we were out for ice cream, Mitch wandered over to a table that held a family of four towheads. I whispered to John, "He's going to be with his own kind."

Mitch is also the middle child. All of these qualities combined have, I fear, created a child at risk of feeling alienated.

Right now, we can add to the mix an older brother who is drawing a lot of attention for starting kindergarten and an adorable baby sister, the only girl, who has just started to crawl and was recently diagnosed with a health problem that requires much doting and numerous doctor visits that leave Mitch at home. It's no wonder his first line of defense against melting into the background is raucous behavior. And he's three. As any seasoned mother can attest, the terrible twos have got nothing on the tear-your-hair-out threes.

Here's a list of SOME of the trouble Mitch has gotten into today:

• Broke the printer by kicking it while sitting at the computer.
• Spilled cherry Italian ice on the rug.
• Bit Owen.
• Ran into the family room to divebomb the couch, knocking Paige into a table in the process.
• Ate one bite of a peanut butter sandwich he'd thrown a fit to get, then declared himself full.
• Hit Owen. And hit Owen again. And again.
• Woke Paige up from her nap on purpose.
• Swiped the doctor's stethoscope at Paige's check up, and when asked to give it back said, "No thank you."
• Erased two of my shows from the DVR.
• Splashed juice on the screen of daddy's beloved and very fancy TV.
• Pooped in his #@%^&# pants THREE times!
• Unplugged the floor fan and plugged it back in elsewhere.

The list could go on if I felt like sitting here recounting all of it, but I'll give the kid (and myself) a break.

Sometimes when I'm reprimanding him, he gets this look of sheer defiance, a "bring it on beyatch" kind of look. But sometimes, especially when I am watching from a more objective place, when John does the fussing, I can see something softer beneath that look. It's a look made of sadness, defeat, anger, and a little bit of love, and it reminds me that he's only been alive three years, that he doesn't mean any harm in all the trouble he gets into. He's just figuring out the world.

So maybe I can't predict with any accuracy what Mitch will be like when he's sixteen, maybe he'll be a mild mannered boy, a devoted student and a disciplined, no nonsense athlete. But no matter what he becomes, I hope he will always know that, blond hair be damned, he's one of us. A vital, significant part. Keeping things interesting in the middle.

Their Lives Flashed Before My Eyes

Two scares this week, and that's enough for me, thank you.

The first one happened on Wednesday. I'd had just about enough of the Bobos ("big brothers"), so I hauled them off to their room for a nap. Naps are rare for the boys these days because if they nap, they don't go to bed until at LEAST 9:00 if not much later, but some days I just can't wait for bedtime to restore my sanity.

We read some books, then I got up to put Paige to bed. Owen started whining that he wasn't tired, didn't want to sleep, needed a snack etc. If he's tired enough to sleep, he doesn't usually argue, so I told him he could go out and quietly watch a movie on the couch. Mitch was already snuggled in and content, so he stayed put. As I left the room, John came in to take a cat nap and have a snuggle with Mitch. I put Paige to bed.

When I came out 20 minutes later, John was back at the computer, and the house was quiet. Really, really quiet. Owen wasn't in the family room, so I checked the playroom. No Owen. I asked John where Owen was, expecting him to tell me he'd come to bed after all, but he didn't know either. As John started calling Owen's name, a flutter of panic passed through my gut, and a gruesome slide show of possibilities--seriously awful scenarios--started up in my brain: kidnapping, freak accident, crossing the street alone, wandering through the neighborhood... I didn't think Owen would leave the house without permission, but we could not find him.

We'd already looked in the bedroom once, but John went back in to check again, and I followed. As I entered the doorway, I noticed, at the same time John did, a spot of blue under the covers: Owen's shirt. And there he was, sprawled on the bed, thumb half out of his mouth, glasses still on, a puddle of drool on his pillow. He'd crawled into bed unnoticed, pulled the covers over his head, and gone to sleep, and John hadn't seen him when he left the room. Oh thank god. Thank god thank god thank god.

Suddenly, the 30 minutes of quiet I was after didn't seem quite so desirable, after having imagined our loud-mouthed, relentlessly needy, sometimes purely obnoxious first born child lost or maimed somewhere out in the world.

The second scare was last night.

We were at the pool and had finally convinced Mitch that he could safely stand in the 2 feet. After finding his footing, he went from deathly afraid of swimming in the big pool (though the 2 feet is in a roped off area that gets no deeper than 3 feet), to exuberantly fearless.

John was standing in the 2 feet with Mitch while pulling Paige around in her floaty, and I was with Owen, who was trying to work up the courage to swim underwater to the other side of the rope. My back was to John and Mitch and Paige. Suddenly, John barked, "Ashley!" in his panicked, do something NOW voice, and I whipped around to see what was happening. But I didn't see anything. Then I spotted him. Mitch, right behind me and nearly completely underwater, his face--blotchy, red and wracked with panic--turned up to keep it above the surface. While John was busy with Paige, Mitch had followed Owen and me from the 2 feet into the 3, and the water had gotten too deep.

I snatched him up, and he started burping and spitting up water, head on my shoulder. I kept him there well after he'd stopped coughing, feeling his furious heart beat against my chest.

That heart beat filled me with a powerful sense of relief and despair. We'd been within a hair's breath of something awful happening, and we hadn't seen it coming. That's the way of tragedy. It does not announce itself. It is sneaky and vile and forever right around the corner.

But we'd kept it at bay one more time. Thank god thank god thank god.

Mitch's Musings

Today, driving on the Beltline, out of a peaceful silence and from no context at all came this question from the middle child:

Mommy, what would you do if you were stuck in a bush?

Me: I would say, "Help, help! I'm stuck in a bush!"

Mitch: No you wouldn't. You would say, "Somebody get me out of this bush! It's scratching me!"

Yes, Mitch, maybe. Maybe I would.

Top Ten Idiosyncrasies of the Big Brothers

Top Ten Idiosyncrasies of the Big Brothers

ONE: Owen's fear of the beeping coffee maker, which causes him to hide on the stoop in the carport every morning, hands over ears, until the coffee has finished brewing.

TWO: Mitch's love affair with Dee Dee, which is not his name for his favorite blanket, but his name for the TAG on his favorite blanket, which Owen accidentally tore off yesterday and about which Mitch bawled until it was sewed back on.

THREE: Mitch's love of shoes, and his belief that putting on a pair of shoes means one is "going to work."

FOUR: Owen's obsession with "driving home a different way" and taking new exits off the Beltline.

FIVE: Mitch's use of the word "soaking" in place of the word "very," as in, "I'm soaking tired" or "I'm soaking dirty."

SIX: Both boys' insistence on yelling hello to anyone who walks by our house, regardless of the person's appearance (remember, we live very close to downtown), and their persistence if said person does not respond immediately. They continue calling hello until he does answer, causing John and I to hide behind the van and hiss at them to stop it before we get mugged.

SEVEN: Mitch's embarrassing tendency to ask complete strangers for their keys and/or cellphones.

EIGHT: Mitch's recitation of the ABC's, which includes, "H, I, K, K and a little P."

NINE: Owen's talents as an emcee/sports announcer/commercial voice over-er. He does play-by-play for our driveway games of baseball, hockey, and basketball, and both boys play "infomercial" in the sandbox, using buckets and shovels as the products they are demonstrating.

TEN: For both, favorite snack = two pieces of plain bread. Wouldja like some water with that?

We Are Family

I took all 3 kids to Roanoke Park today--it's a "mini-park," just a little strip of jungle gym, sandpit, and blacktop between 2 one way streets in Five Points. The kids love it because the blacktop has become a repository for people's cast off ride-on toys: cozy coupes, small bikes and trikes, scooters, even a seen-better-days Power Wheels. It's also known to my boys as "the park where you can pee in the bushes" because there is no bathroom and once--ONCE--I let them go pee inside a big, hollow bush in the corner of the park. The hollow bush was so great, they stayed in there afterward and played "secret fort." Only boys. No qualms at all about playing where they'd just peed.

When we got to Roanoke Park today, they spotted a new ride-on toy, a little toddler car with a push handle. Mitch ran over and called back, "Mommy! A car for Paige! A car for Paige!" He insisted that she ride it, so I buckled her in, and Owen and Mitch took turns pushing her slowly around the blacktop. They got the biggest kick out of seeing her squeal and grin with the excitement of her first ride.

It's amazing to me how much both boys appreciate watching Paige experience new things. They love watching her try to pick up fruit puffs, play her xylophone, sit up on her own. They dote on her completely. It's heartwarming--and probably short lived. I'm sure their adoration will diminish when Paige starts crawling and wrecks a few of their games or snatches their toys. And woe to the baby who knocks over Owen's painstakingly constructed train-track highways and road signs. I hope she's a fast crawler.

Meanwhile, I am enjoying how smitten they are. The minute I put Paige down for a nap, Mitch asks when she is going to wake up, and when he finally does hear her on the monitor, he jumps up from whatever he's doing and gallops back to the crib to see her. By the time I come in, he's usually in the crib with her. Both boys come running any time I have her on the changing table. They race to beat each other to her room, then jockey for a spot where they can see and talk to her.

Today Mitch got down on the floor with Paige while I ate a quick bite of lunch. They were playing peek-a-boo with a blanket, and Mitch was pretending to make Paige disappear. He'd toss the blanket over her, wave his arms and say, in his mysterious magician voice, "Capital Boulevard!" Then he'd yank the blanket off of her, and she'd kick and squeal.

I'm not sure why Mitch was using "Capital Boulevard" (a busy road near our neighborhood) as his magic word, but watching them was magical. My children may evolve into sworn enemies later in their childhoods, but I know that the joy they find in one another now, the bond they are forming, is strong enough to connect them for life.

I may regret those bonds when their father and I are old and the three of them are complaining about us behind our backs, but in the end, I suppose that's what brothers and sisters are for. And hopefully, they will be annoyed enough by John that my name will never come up.