Dear Eli,

I feel like you've gotten the short end of the stick this year, what with the new baby and your new penchant for whining and all. In the midst of the chaos, I sometimes forget to remind you of what an awesome kid you are. In the last six months or so you have become this boy. Not a toddler, barely a little kid, not even a preschooler anymore. More and more often I look at you and for a brief moment I can see with crazy clarity the 12 year old, 18 year old, 25 year old that you will become. It's exciting and heart breaking at the same time.

You are so funny, and you delight in making your dad and me laugh. A lot of the time it's poop and penis jokes, which I'll admit are pretty damn funny (it's my job to tell you otherwise. I'll explain when you're older). Then you tell the same joke over and over and over and over and over, until we have to explain why we're not laughing anymore. But you're learning. And your timing is impeccable. You've been known to tell complete strangers "My name is Eli. I was born in Oregon in a covered wagon" with a totally straight face, which has then led to some very interesting reactions. You have a special skill for physical comedy. One great example is that during Thanksgiving dinner, I was laughing with a friend about my reaction to a client who literally jumped out of her clothes. I heard your signature mischevious giggles from the other room and looked over just in time to see you streaking, butt naked, through the kitchen. I often have to ask you to take underwear off of your head. They're classics for a reason, kid.

You've always been curious, but lately you've outgrown my cursory explanations and I'm stumped so often that you've started asking your question and then immediately saying "We should look that up." Because of you I know what makes a rattlesnake rattle, that fish have ears, that the straps in boots are called "mule ears" and pretty much everything about the rodeo. Your vocabulary has grown so much that a lot of the time I don't know how to easily define the words you ask about. You're pretty sneaky when you're trying to swear ("fuckle" has been a recent point of discussion). And your memory is phenomenal. You've brought up things that happened years ago, and that no one's talked about since, like what we ate for dinner at a rest stop on the way to Minnesota. It's pretty amazing.

You are so creative and inventive. One of my favorite things to do is to catch you playing when you think no one's watching. Because you're such a performer, much of your time in other people's presence feels like a show you're putting on, but when you're alone I can see a whole different side of you. You love to play with your Lego men and to build houses and cars for them. You also love to create obstacle courses for yourself and call yourself "Ninja Warrior." You have a couple of little hidey holes in the house that you use, and I am so envious of the way that you can find a private, cozy spot in the middle of everything. You'll play behind the chair for so long that sometimes I forget you're there, until you pop up unexpectedly and yell "Boo!", scaring the shit out of me and making your baby sister laugh so hard she falls over. You love costumes and dressing up, but you're also very particular about it. You were rocking the cowboy get-ups HARD for awhile, but you outgrew your boots and seem to be moving on. The Spiderman costume you favored a few months ago has been replaced by Clone Troopers and Transformers. Lately you've been obsessed with Astro Boy (which, by the way, has a very confusing to a four-year-old death/grief theme that you've explained to yourself in such a beautiful and sweet way that I have no intentions of correcting you on it) and you've asked Abba to make you "an Astro Boy suit with boots and an E on the shirt." I have no doubt that you will wear that costume to pieces, just like the Superman one and the Spiderman one before it. I love when I go check on you before I go to bed, to find that at some point you got up, took your jammies off, and put on your Frankenstein costume. Doesn't get more Eli than that.

At school you split your time pretty evenly playing tag with the boys and playing house with the girls (you're usually the daddy or the dog). You have a sensitive soul and you worry that kids don't want to play with you, yet you never let this stop you from trying. I'm learning to step back and let you navigate this part on your own, figure out the playground rules because 1) I always sucked at them and 2) you're doing a much better job on your own than with my help. My heart breaks when I see the confusion on your face, but you keep at it and have a ton of friends to show for it. We're trying to teach you to stand up for yourself a bit more, and it seems to be working. Daddy just told me a story about you playing house with your friends when the house was "invaded" by other kids. Spurred by your wife's call, you rushed over, flexed your muscles ala Superman, and demanded they leave your home. I have no idea where you got all that, but it cracks me up to imagine. You adore your teacher, and the feelings seem to be mutual. Last week, as you were doing her hair, you told her you were taking her on a date to Pump It Up.

It's been so interesting to watch you with Sydney. I'm not sure you're so sold on this big brother gig, but the two of you play together more and more, and have settled into the family in a really nice way. You hate when she sleeps in your room because it means you have to be quiet when you're supposed to be sleeping, which, to be honest, makes it a win-win for me. On the other hand, every morning you come into our room and crawl into bed next to her, pull her close to you, and the two of you laugh and play together, sharing smiles in the early light. She beams at the sight of you, and you're doing a good job of being patient and sharing your toys (and your mom and dad). I know it's tough Kid, and I try to be understanding. I'm sorry if I sometimes forget how hard it is to be the oldest. I know that it's been an adjustment having to share with the baby, but you've been a champ.

One of the things you ask daily is "How much do you love me, Mama?" to which I reply "More than anything else in the world." It's so much more than that though. When you were born, you unlocked a part of me that made me complete. Before you were born, I felt like I was always trying to define my identity, always looking for that one thing that defined me. And then you came and made it crystal clear. I am many things, but above all I am a mama, and you made me that.

I love you more than space,

Mama

Ninja Warrior

Man, I love this kid something fierce.

Know what's awesome?

I had big plans for today. I've been putting off grocery shopping for so long that we literally were down to peanut butter, bananas, a half a head of cauliflower, and a huge decaying leek. So the kids and I were going to hit Costco and the grocery store hard. I sat down and for the first time in months wrote out a meal plan and coordinating shopping list. I even broke out the cookbooks so we could shake out of the spaghetti-tacos-chicken-porkchop-meatloaf rut we've been stuck in for.ever. Two hours later, after remembering the consequences of shopping hungry, eating lunch, putting clothes on the kids (in that order, please tell me I'm not the only one who's weekends look like this) we set off. I even remembered, at the last minute, to grab the diaper bag and my phone.The three of us were in great moods, none of the kids were crying or whining, and traffic was even good. Pulled into Costco braced for the clusterfuck that is their parking lot, only to find a spot, on my first pass, right in front. Seriously, there was one car between us and the door. I would've paid money for this spot. Smiling to myself because the gods were obviously smiling down on me, I started unloading my still lovely, happy, behaving children. Because I am SO organized and SO together, I thought to put my membership card and debit card in my pocket o I wouldn't have to worry about a bag in Costco. On Saurday. Three guesses where my wallet was. Yup, in my bag. My work bag. My work bag that I'd thoughtfully put away Friday night as part of my effort to keep my house looking a little less sty-ish, and so did not have to step over to leave. Which means I didn't have the visual reminder to switch out my stuff. Son of a bitch. See what I get?

Our parking spot was significantly less awesome the second time around.

Not quite Martha

but not too shabby either, if I do say so myself.

For Eli

I actually sarted these over a year ago and originally made them too big. More "weapon of destruction" than bean bag. These are perfect palm size and a good weight. We picked up a paint can to toss into. He loves them, and I'm reminded of how great simple toys can be.

For Syd

I've been eying Baby Legs since Eli was tiny, but have never been willing to spend that much on not-socks/not-pants. So I made my own. Super easy and they. are. ADORABLE!

So fun to have time for hobbies again!

*In that bottom picture you can just barely see Syd's chompers. She had none until about a month ago. Now she's working on #4. Fun times.

So Happy Together...

The Club (or Where I Get All Ranty)

When I had Eli, I vividly remember feeling like I had just gained membership to this super-exclusive, amazing club. Other mothers and I share conspiratorial smirks as our kids run amok and we half-heartedly try to reign them in. The empathic look as a mother wrestles her tantruming three year old out of Target. The knowing, inner glow that comes from watching another mom sway her baby, gently "shhhing" remembering the hours you spent doing the same thing, until anytime you stand still you still unconsciously sway. I love that. I love the knowledge that this motherhood thing is a team sport, and that for the most part, we all support each other, knowing that we're all doing the best we can. I love that, despite your methods, we all know the feeling of peace as you look in on your sleeping child. We all know the feeling of having your priorities completely rearranged by someone who weighs less than a gallon of milk. The joy of watching your babies smile. It's so interesting to me to work with the women that I do, because it really highlights how strong the bond between mothers is. I work with moms who've lost their kids, gave up their kids, shit even killed their kids, and yet, we're all in this together. The same look crosses each woman's face when she talks about her babies. We all just get it.

I feel strongly that we are all in this together. When I'm with my kids, despite the methods I claim to use or the "expert" I follow, about 90% of the time I'm really just trying not to fuck up too bad. I think that's true for most of us. We wing it. We experiment. We struggle, and when we find something that works we celebrate. Extended breast feeding, formula, co-sleeping, sleep training, infant potty training. They're all awesome.

I get so frustrated when parents start judging each other for doing the best we can. No one sets out to screw up our kids. Quite the opposite, we obsess and research and worry and beat ourselves up. But there are tons of studies that say the best thing we can do is try not to fuck our kids up too bad. I find that reassuring. For some people, their best means all organic, no vaccines, baby-directed, 24/7 baby-wearing. For others that means flash cards, Baby Einstein, the Ferber method and classical music in constant rotation. It really doesn't matter. What matters is that we're trying the best we can.

Despite the circumstances, I believe that we all love our children so much that it's indescribable. I believe that we all want the best for our kids, no matter how you define that. So daycare, formula, cribs, prison records. Let's all back the fuck off. This parenting gig is hard enough. I mean that both for those of us raising our kids and those of us who aren't. We all know the feeling that comes when that little person makes their big entrance, but we have no idea what's going to work best for another family. By all means, share your tricks. Listen to each other's struggles. Laugh through the frustration and at the utter ridiculousness of it all. Having kids is awesome, and amazing, and sometimes really really hard. But we're all in this together, and at the end of the day the majority of us are doing a damn fine job. Or at least trying not to screw up too bad.

Starting off on the right foot

C went out of town this weekend so I took the opportunity to be "the fun one" for a change. It was a total exercise in gluttony, if we're being completely honest. We made New Year's Cupcakes...

They taste just like they look. The most natural thing in them is the Spiderman wrapper.

I let the kids pick dinner, so they ate an entire pizza and three CANS of mandarin oranges. And the cupcakes.

There's water in her sippy cup. That's got to count for something, right?

By Sunday Eli was begging for fruit, so I'm calling the weekend a success. And joining weight watchers, cause I'm pretty sure my ass grew three sizes today.