My baby you'll be.

It's a strange thing to see your children grow.  You look at them every single day, but somehow, one day, they seem to have changed overnight without you noticing.  And without giving you a warning so you could take one last look at the way they were before they suddenly changed.  The baby changed.  She was telling me about something in great detail, and in the moment between searching her pocket and turning back to me, it left - her babyhood took up on the breeze and faded away.  She is forever my baby, but it is apparent now that I'm the only one who sees her this way anymore.  It took me by surprise, her not being a baby any more, as she herself tends to take people by surprise.  She has always been petite - not even six pounds when she was born - and her stature often belies both her wit and her volume.  My grandmother always comments on "what a loud child she is", and not in a way that would suggest she is obnoxious (which honestly, what toddler isn't obnoxious now and then), but only because her elfish face doesn't lead on to the bellowing voice inside.  She is silly, but observant and thoughtful, retelling intricate stories of her sisters' shenanigans, and offering well thought out plans for excursions and activities (her most common opening line is "I have an idea, how 'bout we...").  She likes things that are weird and unusual, and when given opportunities to choose for herself, she rarely chooses what you would have thought she'd like.  Her sisters both baby her, which she allows, and now that they see she has value as a contributing playmate and isn't just an elephant in their china shop of imagination, they seek her out to play.  The baby is the most neutral of the girls - she'll happily hop from one sister's game to the next, whereas the older two take a bit more mediation to play nicely.  She is just so sweet.  Or dramatic, but I feel the spells of distress and injustice she plays out now are mostly just to keep pace with the sisters (it's not fair!).  I'll admit, I baby her too.  But she is the baby!  She's too little.  Be careful with her.  Let me help you.  Sigh.  Of course, this has only been met with fierce independence on her part, and an occasional reprimand for my husband - "just let her do it".  She is very capable, and is a fine example of how little all of those books for first time parents matter in raising a child.  By the third child, you find a breast and a bed are all a baby needs to be happy.  And she is.  My little baby, my tiniest one, my sweet fuzzy peach, my precious child.  She is three now, and as exciting as it is to see our family grow and change and put one phase behind us (no diaper bags, yeah!), I'll always be thankful I caught the moment before she checked her pocket.

Christmastime is here.

The last few years I have been a real scrooge about the holidays, which is unfortunate, because now is the time I have the pleasure of sharing Christmas with my small children, and it should be magical and wondrous as I see them see Christmas.  While there have been moments of warm fuzzies and yuletide glow, I have certainly not been the best at seeking them out, or maybe even noticing them when they are in my midst.  I don't handle stress well, ask my husband - I cried the other day because we had to change our dinner plans - and while I know it is irritating most of the year, it becomes a real stumbling block during Christmastime.  Especially after we left Colorado.  Organizing travel, scheduling when we would be where, who we would be seeing for what part of the day, how to ship gifts from here to there, and there to here, shopping for gifts (my LEAST favorite - I don't like the pressure of the expectation of gifts), it all was way too much, so I was crabby, and definitely not in the Christmas spirit.  Even when we still lived in Colorado, I got so wound up over having to split a holiday and try to make sure each set of family got their time with the girls, and whatever other special holiday thing they wanted to be done.  This year has had it's share of stress - two moves, new schools for the kids, a couple of big exciting trips, a couple of heavy hearted trips that no one had planned for - and I was sure, especially since going home for Christmas was not an option this year, that scrooge would rule my attitude.  I was planning on having a crappy Christmas.  I was going to be sad, miss my mom, hate shopping for gifts, not make Christmas treats because what's the point, and just try to hurry through it and get it over with.  How could I enjoy Christmas?  My kids would miss out on opening presents with their cousins, we'd miss out on dinners downtown, my husband would miss out on his mom's traditional Christmas foods, there were so many things that would be missing from our Christmas.  The girls started bringing home the usual "winter" activities from school, and started talking about Christmas coming up.  They asked if we would be going to Colorado, and I told them that this year, we'll be having Christmas in Florida by ourselves.  "Just us?" they asked.  "Yep.  Just a quiet Christmas at home."  A quiet Christmas.  There it is.  It dawned on me that we have never had a quiet Christmas, and never at our home.  As much as Colorado is home to us, the holidays we spend there are at someone else's home, doing the things they have done Christmas after Christmas, and they lovingly invited us to be a part of it.  My thinking changed as I realized that all of the things we'd be "missing out on" would still be there - for the people who celebrated them.  We would be here, and we would not be missing out on what's here.  We would have our own, quiet, happy Christmas at home.  Thankfully, this change of heart came with plenty of time to enjoy it, and while I am still aching to spend time with our family and be a part of their Christmases, it is easier to be present here.  To be hanging paper snowflakes, to be baking those one cookies, to be thoughtful in our preparations for Christmas rather than rushing through them to get to the modest stack of packages under the tree.  I regret any bah hum bugs that may have gotten between myself and the quiet miracle of Christmas in the past, but I know this year, it will be treasured and savored, and stored away for days when clouds roll in. 

Giving thanks.

I have been avoiding this.  For a few weeks.  I knew it was going to come, but I really didn't want to have to do it.  Even if I needed to.  I do need to.  The problem is, I am having such a hard time formulating how I want this to go, and even now, I only have a vague image in my mind of what will be said.  Raising three girls has been interesting to me, primarily because I was the only girl in my family, so watching sister relationships form is not as terrifying as I am sure some people would presume it to be.  Most days.  In my mind, having brothers was quite unfortunate, but by the grace of God, my cousin, who was only three months older than me, was also unfortunate enough to have a brother.  And so we adopted each other as "sister-cousins", which, as a teen, sounded totally dorky to say, but in all honesty was the best way to describe our relationship.  It was all the best parts of sisterhood - secrets, sleepovers, sharing make up (against my aunt's advice - I just had to try her blue mascara!), and most importantly, an ally and immediate friend - without all of the sisterly drama.  Usually.  When we were little, we lived farther away, so summers were spent trading houses for a week at a time, and any family gathering that would have otherwise been soooo boring became an opportunity to reunite with a treasured friend.  In high school, her family moved literally one neighborhood away, and their house was the first place I drove to when I got my driver's license.  We have always been very different, different enough that I wonder if we would have chosen to be friends had we not been related.  It doesn't matter.  Our differences made our relationship even more like sisters - we shared a deep history, and although there were times as we got older things like college, marriage, jobs, and babies made it hard to see each other often, or even call sometimes, any time I knew I'd see her, I felt just as giddy as I did when I was seven.  Having a sister-cousin was awesome.  Two Februarys ago, our family's heart broke.  She was diagnosed with Leukemia.  And I moved away.  She started chemo three weeks before my husband's job took us 1900 miles away, and it hurt me to the very core to be absent at a time I knew she really needed a sister with her.  Phone calls, texts, emails, became more regular, and I realized that although we were so far apart, I was feeling closer to her than I had before.  Most of our conversations were how you'd imagine two twenty-something gal's conversations to go, but sometimes they were hard, and sometimes they were just quiet.  Being on the phone together and not saying anything was enough.  I have to stop here before I go on and say that I played a very small role in a vast support system she had.  Our family is amazing, her community is amazing, and there were so many people that rallied around this person so precious to so many, that my own impact, although significant to me, was small among the great net of hands that vigilantly held her up.  I feel selfish only telling my own part, but it's the part I know best, the part I can share honestly.  Any time we traveled back to Colorado, I always made sure some bit of time was set aside just for her.  There were good visits, where we went to the movies and she dragged me all around the mall for an iPad charger, and there were quieter visits, when she was too tired to do much more than just sit together, which was fine with me.  Her journey with cancer was a roller coaster.  Things would look great, and then back track, and then look great again, and then another set back, but through all of it, I saw this person I had known my whole life transform before my very eyes - she became a vision of faith and quiet fortitude, even in her own struggle, reaching out a hand to lift those struggling around her.  It was humbling to see God working so clearly through someone I loved so dearly.  Her illness took a turn this past October, and I made the trip home I had hoped so much I wouldn't have to.  I held her hand, kissed her head, and felt privileged to stand alongside her sweet husband and my precious Aunt and Uncle and her dear brother as we gathered to love one who had loved so many.  My Aunt put it beautifully when she said that she found her miracle in Heaven.  I just loved her so much, and wanted to be able to put into words what she meant to me, but it has eluded me.  And then I was reminded, with Thanksgiving coming this week, of something special our family shared that would be just the way to say what I need to.  When we were maybe nine years old, my cousin and I decided to jazz up the Thanksgiving table with fancy name cards for each family member, but of course, we had to make it more interesting, so we gathered the name cards and each person randomly drew a name and anonymously wrote inside the card why they were thankful for that person.  When we sat down to eat, everyone would read their card aloud and try to guess who wrote it.  Some were simple ("you make good mashed potatoes"), some were hilarious ("you're such a bad-ass"), and all were genuine and sincere.  The tradition stuck, and every year, she and I wrote and passed out name cards, and we all looked forward to guessing who had made each of us feel valuable for being ourselves.  Ironically, over all of those years, I don't think I ever once drew her name.  So this year, I cheated.

JENNY
I am thankful for Jenny because she humors me and lets me lead.  She is intelligent, but also spacey enough to be entertaining.  She rarely giggles, and only really laughs if something is very funny, so I'm thankful that she laughs at me.  I am thankful that she doesn't mind when my kids are noisy on the phone, or in person, and I am thankful that she loves them.  I am thankful that Jenny likes mint chocolate like me.  I am thankful that our husbands don't mind when we tease them.  I am thankful that she confides in me.   I am thankful that she always sends me a birthday gift, even though I never remember to send one to her until it's a Christmas gift anyways.  I am thankful that she never lets me mess up her beautiful hair.  I am thankful for the one time that she did.  I am thankful that we never not liked each other.  I am thankful for Jenny's beautiful voice.  I am thankful for Gunther Toody's birthday breakfast.  Any breakfast together, really.  I am thankful that she taught me how to play rummy in the camper while it was raining outside.  I am thankful that I did not ruin Logan's proposal, but that I got to be the first to congratulate them.  I am thankful that we tried that soup.  It was delicious.  I am thankful that she keeps track of things.  Better than I do, anyways.  I am thankful for Caboodle cases full of tiny nail polishes.  I am thankful for sleepovers.  I am thankful we stopped to get candy.  I am thankful for blips.  I am thankful Jenny's dorky Santa purse.  I both anticipate and enjoy it.  I am thankful we remember the same things - basement skating, leaf houses, losing the neighbor kid, the Nutcracker - and we remember them the same way.  I am thankful I was unfortunate enough to have brothers.    If I had a real sister, I might have missed out on a sister-cousin.  I am thankful for every family function she came to.  I am thankful she is honest, both in word and in action.  I am thankful we changed other plans to get a few hours here and there when I visited.  I am thankful you waited for me.  I am thankful you will be waiting for me.

Stuck in the middle (of my heart).

Well what do you know, it's October.  My precious little brunette angel baby turned four last week, and we celebrated with a glittery bow and arrow and my sorry attempt at a purple "ombre cake".  She couldn't have cared less about the cake; it had chocolate frosting and marshmallows on top, so who cares if the innards have been Frankensteined back together because of failure to spray the pan (oops).  She called it a "white forest cake", which doesn't really make sense, but she stuck with it, and so will I.  At four years old, the brunette is as snugly and tender as the tiny little thing she came in to the world as.  Add in some odd vocabulary (remnants of ancient language ingrained in her subconscious???), the most hilarious face contortions, epic tales of shark encounters and miracle third arm growth, and the occasional fish flop in a fit of emotional distress, and there you have my darling daughter.  She is a child of her own, and my husband and I always talk about how there's just something special about the brunette - of course we love all of our children, but if you met this one, you'd say the same thing.  I've tried my hardest throughout her short life to not treat her like a middle child - to not give her special privileges to make up for her lot in the birth order universe, but also not to deny her special privileges and cultivate the very middle child syndrome I dread.  So far, I feel like it stresses me out more than it needs to, and I am feeling like I am way over thinking it all and she is who she is regardless, and simultaneously because of, being a middle child.  She had the benefit as a newborn of having a mother who was not a fretful first time mom, but more comfortable and more likely to follow her lead than go overkill on worrying about milestones, baby food, baby gear, all of that.  She was a happy baby and an easy baby, and I really think it was because she came second.   As she gets older, being second in line has made it easier for me to teach and discipline her, as I have already worked out the kinks with the blonde (sorry baby, it's hard to be the guinea pig), but I know she struggles with seeing her older sister get to do things that she can't yet.  Fortunately, she does get to be bigger than the baby, and it pleases me so much that she is a generous and loving big sister.  She and the baby play so nicely together, and she is patient and gentle (aside from the occasional altercation, i.e. this girl's got a solid right hook), and when she could easily take advantage of being bigger, she doesn't, and I believe it is because she knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of a bossy big sister.  I just love her so much, she is beautiful and silly and a joy to spend time with, and as much as I try to even the playing field for all my girls, there is just no such thing.  They all are different people, with different personalities shaped by different experiences in our family, and the only thing I can guarantee will be the same for all of them is that they will each be loved eternally.  And that is not a bad deal.  But let's not rush eternity, I'd like to hear some more stories about the sharks.

Tell me about your day.

We are a week into Kindergarten, and were fortunate enough to find a preschool (finally!) that is lovely, clean, kind, convenient, and available!  The brunette was so very very very happy to hear that she really truly was going to school - it had been up in the air until the very last minute, and it made my heart ache to watch her sad little face while big sister prepared for school and she did not.  But here we are, praise the Lord, she got to start her first day of preschool this Monday.  She was bright and cheerful and didn't let on if she was feeling any jitters, while I, on the other hand, was throwing up in my mouth.  The first day of Kindergarten didn't rattle me nearly as much as this did.  I think I knew that the blonde had been to school before and wouldn't have a problem being away from home or anything, and while Kindergarten would be much different, we had had plenty of time to prepare for it - but preschool is kind of optional, and I had almost resigned myself to the brunette not being able to go, so changing gears threw me for a loop!  Preschool drop off went very smoothly, no tears, only smiles, and she even remembered the name of the teacher we had met on our tour, and aside from the fact that my husband was upset that she went to school in clunky rain boots (which we got a lot of good feedback on - "what cute boots!", by the way...), it went off without a hitch!  It was odd, and yet quite enjoyable, to scoot around town with just one little smiley two year old.  We ran all sorts of errands, and the baby was just a chatting, charming little thing!  She nibbled goldfish crackers and made small talk with old folks, and was just generally pleasant company.  It was so great, any time I get to spend with just one child at a time is so precious, they are completely different little people when they don't have to compete for attention, space, input, the rights to the Jasmine figurine that rolls around the floor of the car - it was just great.  It was equally thrilling to pick up the brunette from school and see a happy, cheeky face going on and on about Shirley in her class (really?  Shirley?), learning about the letter F, sharing princess books, making chicken Marsala (say what?), and a myriad of other way cool preschool things, many of which she later retracted and confessed to being made up, so I guess I really have no idea what she did at preschool all day.  Whether the events of the day were true or not, her attitude was one of genuine happiness, and I'll take that any day of the week.  Later, after moving through the surprisingly efficient pick up loop at the elementary school, a sad faced blondie climbed into the car with a heavy sigh.  Not a good day at Kindergarten.  I know not every day will be awesome, but it doesn't make it any easier when one of my babies has a bad one.  Kisses and hugs and reassurance and an under the table chocolate from my secret stash were all in order, and thankfully, she perked up, and was still looking forward to trying again tomorrow.  The best part of the whole day was listening at dinner to all of the girls asking and telling each other about their day - it was, now that I think about it, the first time in a long time that all three of them had been doing different things for the day.  It was so amazing to hear them take a real interest in each other's day, asking questions, giving praise to each other, comforting each other, just talking and caring about what is happening in their sisters' lives.  My husband and I said very little, and just listened - how could we interrupt such a beautiful little exchange?  It was just so... hard to put into words, just a good moment to be a parent.

A change.

My baby starts Kindergarten next week.  So far, her behavior has made it easy for me to not be an emotional wreck.  ("Is time for you to go to school yet?")  And yet...she's my baby.  My very first little precious tiny, wispy haired, round eyed baby girl.  The first person in the whole world to call me "Mama".  I tell her that all the time, that she got to call me Mama before any one else ever did, and I think, that even though she acts crazy and burps in my face, that is a special thing to her.  She is such an interesting person to love - she has an odd and witty and surprising sense of humor, and is so smart and clever, and charming and weird all at the same time.  She is so different from her sisters.  The world is her plaything; everything is a prop or a character or an inspiration for some complex and wonderful imaginary scene she participates in, and while it takes convincing to get her to participate in the daily grind, she does it with flair and attitude, which can be both frustrating, and delightfully entertaining.  I briefly considered homeschooling, but this child cannot be contained, and this Mama does not have enough water in the world to quench the thirst she has for learning and doing and trying and making and meeting and growing.  So, I send her out.  She'll be fine.  She's ready.  She's capable.  She's excited.  Although, I think school supply shopping was a bit of a let down for her.  Four boxes of crayons, some glue sticks, and a box of tissues just doesn't really let her express her "style".  But she's excited anyways.  And she reminds me.  That school is starting, that she is big now, that she can do things herself, that she might save her green blanket for watching movies and not keep it in her bed anymore.  She is so lovely and goofy and everything she should be, and I will miss her while she's at school, but that just means it will be exciting to pick her up.  My mom told me once that she always remembered my brothers and I as different sets of children - the kids as babies, the kids in school, the kids as teenagers - and it is a perfect way to explain how I am feeling about Kindergarten.  I am realizing my little baby blondie is gone, but here in her place is this new child that I already know so affectionately, but have so much to get to know and learn about.  My sweet girl.  My first big kid. 

Bon appetit.

My children are not great sleepers.  The blonde was the fussiest sleeper in the history of the world (look it up), and the other two girls were not a whole lot easier, except for the fact that they were able to sleep in their beds and not in my arms in a recliner at three in the morning.  Finally.  Anyways, my point is that in exchange for poor naps and almost never making it through the night without someone getting up, I have been wonderfully blessed with excellent eaters.  From the very beginning, all three girls have at least been willing to try, and often enjoyed, many different types of food.  I think part of it is that I was either too absentminded to buy enough baby food, or too lazy to make some, so more often than not, I just smashed up whatever we were eating and gave it to the kids.  Of course I made sure it was something they could actually eat (I'm not going to give a baby hot wings, but don't ask my husband the same question - have you ever seen a baby eat wasabi?  They don't like it.  And neither do their mothers.), but I wasn't one to deny anything if they seemed interested in it.  As a result, the girls are both hearty, and enthusiastic eaters, and often, they are best behaved at restaurants because, well, they are eating.  (The shoe store is another story, but I'm not ready to talk about that yet.)  The blonde is perhaps the most adventurous.  While the other girls will try what is offered, the blonde is forever seeking the "alternate menu".  On many occasions, she has ordered for herself from the appetizers because "she's in the mood for frog's legs".  Um, ew, I don't even eat frog's legs - they still look like frog's legs!  Her obsession with food has even moved into her leisure time - Bizarre Foods trumps My Little Pony's for air time, and has inspired her to hope to try fried iguana if she ever makes it to Barbados.  She even reads cook books on the side.  We have one called "500 Cupcakes", and you can bet she doesn't miss a page.  This book stays in the back of our car and gets read aloud anytime we go anywhere.  "This one is an oatmeal raisin cupcake, with vanilla frosting and cinnamon sprinkled on top.  This one is a key lime cupcake with whipped cream and a slice of lime on top.  This one..."  As interesting as it is to hear about 500 cupcakes every time we go anywhere, it is not nearly as interesting as when the three of them begin to improvise recipes.  "This one is a chocolate cupcake, but I think it would be better if you cut it in half and filled it with jello and sprinkles, and then put it back together and covered it with cream cheese frosting and put jello cut in the shape of a star on top, and then sprinkled some cinnamon on top, and then brought it to the pool for a pool party."  And the brunette adds, "Or, what if, you made a majana cupcake, and put some cherries inside, and then took the majana, majana is like bread, and then covered it with cherry flavored whipped cream, and them dipped it in gombooli, and then ate it at school."  Hmm, sounds exotic.  The baby, not to be left out, contributes her own recipe, "What if, you make, and then, and banilla, and top, and eat at school!"  A mysterious treat.  These little conversations start innocently enough, but the longer the car ride, the weirder the ingredients - I'm talking grass and wolf meat.  Where can you even get wolf meat?  Aren't they endangered?  Would these be black market cupcakes?  Their cooking creativity is, well, very creative, and while I'll never take for granted that they all share both an interest and enthusiasm for trying new foods, we might put off cooking school...for now.  Maybe wolf meat will be more readily available in twenty years.