Treading Water in the Kiddie Pool

Nap time is one of my favorite parts of the day, a trait I share with many mothers.

But not for the reason you may think.

Not because it signifies break time for Mommy (because the way nap time works in our household does not involve break time), but because it is quiet time where I can lay down beside you and think…

…about how quickly you are growing…

When we started these naps, you were a tiny little bundle, then eventually your feet reached down to my stomach and now you sprawl out across the bed, your toes extending to my knees.

…about how quickly you are changing…

You used to fly through the world free of the typical dependencies and attachments of babyhood, no pacifier addiction or required blanket.  Now we trek off to bed dragging Woo-Hoo the Owl, Tigey the Lovie and Mank-Mank the Mickey Mouse and sometimes a truck or two…or three.

…about how quickly life changes…

The days of carrying you to bed are over as you now drag me by the hand to “nur-nur night-night”, turn off the light and turn on the sound machine yourself.

This time is becoming less and less frequent.  This time, once a daily requirement, is now a special treat for days when the rest of life’s obligations do not get in our way.

Often I will look in the rearview mirror of the car to find your eyes closed and my heart sinks, knowing we have missed another nap together.

I have had people groan to me about what a pain it must be to have to nap with you.

“Think of all you could do during that time.”

“That’s when I get most of my work done.”

“What do you do while you’re laying there?”

Yes, think of all the dishes I could have washed, all the clothes I could have folded, all the emails I could have answered during those hours.  But dishes, dirty clothes and emails will still be there when this time is gone.

I chose instead to lay with you and watch your gray eyes get heavy with sleep and finally close.  I chose to watch your chest rise and fall with the sweet sound of your breath, to inhale the warm smell of sleep on your hair, to see your eyelashes flutter when you dream, and enjoy the silence that comes with knowing you are safe and content beside me.

Joining in with the Weekend Moonshine Grid.  Stop on by to read some fabulous posts from some fabulous people.

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As we stroll through the produce department of Whole Foods, Baby S’s chunky little toddler arm shot out and snapped back like a pale rubber band. He looked up at me and smiled, both hands proudly gripping a gigantic piece of fruit.

“That’s an orange,” I said, enunciating carefully. Silencing the little voice in my head cautioning me from encouraging him to get grabby in the grocery store and overcoming the wave of frustration I felt at visiting our second grocery store of the morning, I took a deep breath and relaxed into the opportunity to have a teaching moment.

“Do you want that orange?” I asked. Even though I know Baby S does not typically show an interest in food, there’s something about being surrounded by rows of organic free trade produce that always inspires hope that it is possible to have children with appetites and eating habits worthy of a public service announcement. It is why I always end up throwing away rotting apples at the end of the week. I always think THIS will be the week the boys decide they simply must have apples in multiple colors and varieties at every meal.

I felt the excitement at a healthy food discovery creeping up into my stomach. As I looked at Baby S’s sweet face gazing in wonder at the picture-perfect orange in his lap, I just knew that this was the day Baby S would develop his love of fruit. I saw him moving on from fruit to bananas and strawberries and ultimately even transitioning to vegetables (none of which have I ever been able to convince him to try in his two years on this earth).

“Smell it. It smells so good,” I said, lifting the orange toward his nose. “We can get that if you want.”

“Eat?” he asks, my hope for a major food breakthrough reaching a fever pitch.

After explaining that we buy fruit before we eat it since the cost is based on weight and by eating it we would decrease its weight and therefore be stealing, concepts I’m sure he understood completely, I turned to complete my shopping.

Tossing some bananas into the basket, I noticed Baby S had jumped the gun in spite of my explanation and had his little teeth sunk into the bitter outer peel of the orange.

Uh-oh.

I watched his face screw up with distaste as my hopes for healthy food nirvana dissolved.

Thunk. The orange hit the bottom of the basket with the sound of broken dreams and utter rejection.

“No like orange!”

Damn. Next time skip the lecture on proper fruit buying procedure and just peel the stinkin’ orange.

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Squeezing the foamy grip of the stroller handle, I lean the wheels to the right to dodge the sinkhole in the pavement.

I know where it is without even looking.  Twice a day, going and coming, the sinkhole and I do battle with the stroller wheels.

I will miss the sinkhole.

My sneakers scuff the uneven rise of the aging pavement in our neighborhood, pavement that other mothers have walked their other children across on their way to and from school for the last half century.  They were scuffing their shoes on this sidewalk at the same time my own mother was in school just a few miles away.

I will miss being part of the life that passes through this neighborhood.

The wind blows through the oak trees towering above us, beginning as a whisper then accumulating and roaring over our heads like a wave.  It sounds like fall; it sounds like spring; it sounds like a storm is coming; it sounds like my grandmother’s house; it sounds like home.

The trees are not like this where we are going.  I will miss that whisper.

With each block we pass, Baby S and I, I flip through the images of my two boys growing up here, chasing their friends through the neighborhood on their scooters, their bikes, and some day their cars.  I sift through the visions I have spent the last few years cultivating of what their lives would be like, their school, their friends, flip my mental pencil around and slowly erase my boys from those pictures.  They will not be here.

We are leaving.

I will miss those visions because now I know that is all they will ever be, pieces of my imagination.

Letting go is not only about the things we will miss, our familiar sounds, our customary routes, our habits.  It is also the loss of what we thought would be, the lives I thought they would live.

Their lives will be different.  Hopefully not worse, hopefully (although it feels beyond all possibility) better.  But when you’re happy, it is hard to picture that something else, something so different from this, could ever be better or even a close second.

But I hope it is.

I’m hoping we just don’t yet know what we are missing…

Linking up with Yeah Write this week.  Lately, I’ve been waving through the window at you guys rather than stopping in for a coffee.  Hopefully that will change…

Stop by for some great reads by some great folks…

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I sat down to write about you at the age of One, to attempt to describe you and your life in a way that is accurate enough to preserve some memory of you at this age, to paint a picture that we can both look back on (maybe even together) someday that would allow us both to step back inside the world of you as One.

I’m failing.

I’m failing for one main reason. To describe something accurately, it must be something you can view with an objective eye. You are still so much a part of me and our lives are still so intricately intertwined that for a large portion of the day, we float through the hours if not attached to each other like a boat and its sail, then bobbing along like two buoys tied together, separating slightly in the waves but never more than an arm’s reach apart.

And how would I ever sum up the countless changes you’ve gone through in this single year? Has it really been seven months since you last required my hand firmly grasped in yours to take more than a step or two?

How do I describe the efficiency of our nonverbal communication with each other and the way you have struggled to branch out from that as you begin to increasingly interact with the world outside our home, a world that doesn’t speak our language?

We sleep together, we eat together (me from a plate, you from me – haha), we play together, we read together and the brief times when we are not together, I feel your absence like a heavy ball of tar in the pit of my stomach.

When you smile, my heart too lights up with your happiness.

When you pout with frustration or disappointment, your lower lip protruding from the line of your downturned chin in just the way you’ve learned garners the most attention, I catch my face as I feel it contort in imitation of your expression.

You give me, much older than One, a window through which I can experience all of the wonder, fear and excitement of a world that is still new.

So rather than attempt to describe the indescribable, I will just wish you a happy birthday, little boy. I’m sure we will miss One but I can’t wait to see Two.

Love you.

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I entered his room with a singular purpose, the plastic trash bag bound for Goodwill in my grip.

This room is so full. His drawers are full. The bookshelf is full. The room is so plump and overstuffed it stifles any occupant, the gravity created by the masses of Stuff sucking the oxygen from the room.

Fresh off of Christmas and his seventh birthday, I have been on his case about cleaning out the old to make room for the new, all those little boys who need clothes and toys and would love to have the things he can do without, how much more he would enjoy what he has if he just had the ability to actually see what he has, the importance of letting go, and on and on.

Well now was the time. With Little Boy K out of town for his twice-a-month visit to his other household, I planned to get a jump-start on this process, removing what I knew he would not miss.

I started with the pajama drawer. The top layers were easy, consisting of things he just outgrew too quickly or weren’t a style that he prefers to wear. I matched superhero tops to superhero bottoms and made a massive pile of red and blue, Spidey and Star Wars, that I would transfer into his brother’s room for future wear.

Towards the bottom of the drawer, I started pulling out the footie pajamas, the ones that zip up the front and have little rubber treads on the feet. My breath began to catch in my throat at the familiar patterns of choo-choo trains and puppy dogs (the time before superheroes) as the images of morning snuggles and after-bath book time flashed through my mind. I held them up, to see how tall he was.

I can see him in them.

Like magic, the fabric in my fingers expanded from its two dimensions to three. I pressed the material against my nose no longerand inhaled, closing my eyes and willing myself back into those memories, hoping to catch even the smallest hint of his baby smell amidst the detergent.

I love every molecule of Now. But I still miss every moment that came before with the finality that comes from knowing I can’t have them back.

I have a task to complete, I thought with a sigh. Besides, someday Baby S could wear these too.

I turned my attention to the basket of shoes, overflowing with rubber, velcro, and Spiderman. Lining them up on the floor in front of me, I matched them up in pairs until they formed a little wall. Opening the plastic bag, I grabbed at the first pair.

They didn’t make it into the bag.

What is it about their shoes?

Is it because it’s just so easy to see those little feet in them?

I can remember picking out each pair, kicking them under the couch, pulling smelly socks out of them to toss in the laundry, cleaning mud off of them after our morning at the playground, holding onto them when he tried to climb the railing at the zoo to retrieve Iron Man from the elephant exhibit.

I can see him in them.

They went into the bag but the bag went into the closet, not to Goodwill.

I can find a way to store eighteen years worth of shoes.

I can, right?

It looks like letting go is something I could work on too.

Linking up with the wonderful folks at Yeah Write.  I’ve missed them mucho lately and look forward to reading all the awesomeness that can be found round about their neck of the woods.  Stop on by, I guarantee you’ll find something you like.

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Your little boy Roundness has stretched into Lean this year.  Your legs have grown long and thin and you’ve had the “growing pains” to prove it.  Sometimes the change is so drastic I could swear you are nearly Twelve rather than nearly Seven.

You are a whirlwind of energy always seeking an outlet, eager to join in on any and all fun and take it to the next level, time and place be damned.  Last year you had the joy.  This year you have the joy and the self-confidence to spread it around, far and wide.
Your dance moves know no inhibition and just the hint of a good beat incites them to reveal themselves –  again, time and place be damned.

Your friendships are full of love without self-consciousness.  You freely hold hands, hug and walk with your arm around each others’ shoulders.

You tell me I’m beautiful and I believe you think so.

You sing and you don’t try to hide it.

You cry and you don’t hide that either.

You have attitude and swagger and shocking generosity.

When you have something to say, you struggle to understand why it should not always be said.

Like a tornado, you will not be contained and I’ve come to realize the futility and undesirability of even making that effort. This time is short.  You should be free to enjoy it in your way.  I struggle to convince others of that.

I find myself wishing I could pull the walls (complete with arbitrary rules and time schedules) down around you to ensure that you fully experience Six.

I wish we could put aside the business of growing up, with its five-day-a-week academic calendar and just play (see how strong your influence is?).

But at Six you are learning to become part of the world outside of our home. You are balanced between Big Kid and Little Boy, one foot on each side of the line.

You still reside in a world of superheroes and epic personalities but have added the complexities and shades of gray found in Harry Potter to your world of black and white.

I’m still the girl in your life, thankfully, and I get a few love notes a week to remind me of that. But, the crush you have on your teacher is definitely keeping me on my toes.

Your humor is a mix of nonsensical knock-knock jokes, lots of talk about your butt and a three stooges-type physicality.  Oh, and a lot of references to your butt.  Did I mention you talk about your butt a lot?

As your Mommy, I’m going to miss Six.  But to me, you are Now and everything you have been, all at once.  So as you become Seven, I will still smile at Six standing behind you, and hold tight to Five who leaped out into the world, and carry the weight of Four protectively through parking lots, hike the zoo with Three, rock Two to sleep through his ear infections, hold One’s hand and look on Brand New for the very first time, with absolute wonder.

So on this, your last day of Six, I thank you for bringing your unfettered light into my life and into this world…one that could use a little more Six this year.

I am so blessed to be your Mommy.  Love you Little Boy.

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Magic is hard work.

Every year it gets more difficult to cover my bases, to avoid arousing suspicion.

Watch the handwriting on the gift tags.

Keep the presents hidden.

Make sure Santa uses different wrapping paper.

Keep that wrapping paper hidden too.

And do not even get me started on the daily upkeep of Magic Elf.  Having an Elf is like having a pet.  It’s a big responsibility.

The explanations get more complicated and I get more creative, while trying to keep the creative realistic.

That’s a skinny tightrope: maintaining a  level of believability in a story based on fantasy for a no-longer-little boy.

When I started the Santa business with K, I never thought about the time when the magic would start to crack and falter; it seemed so far away.  And as a parent, you get to relive all that childhood goodness and the mystery and excitement of the season feel new again.

But now it is coming. He is still a believer, although I feel an undercurrent of suspicion bubbling below the surface.

I wonder if this is his last year. Because once you Know, Christmas changes forever.

It is still fun and special and full of traditions, but there is a door that shuts forever around this age.

Growing up is hard.  Watching someone you love grow up is even harder.

The happiest thing and the saddest thing all at the same time.

When it ends, I will make it as joyous as I can for him.  He will be “in” on the big secret, which we must preserve for Baby S.  It will be an adventure and he can be a part of the game with me.

We are not there yet but I see its reflection in my rear view mirror, a flick of his eyes, a questioning look on his face.

So I’m holding on to this year. I’m trying to keep his head in the clouds and keep the magic flowing for just a little longer.

I wish it could last forever for him.

For both of us.

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My two little parallel lines stood at the fence, one peering over, the other peering through, big and little hands gripping the bars.

Two sets of eyes, wide and reflecting the lights of the carousel, mouths open and jaws slack, eagerly waiting.

Little suddenly points out his choice, a frog, by shoving his outstretched finger through the bars and Big smiles his approval.  Big wants the cheetah.

The Christmas music plinks and plunks through the dark air of the zoo, a rare treat of holiday lights, hot chocolate and extra hours with the animals.

The ride itself is pure happiness but this Moment Before, standing behind their Big and Little, seeing them separated only by a few inches and a few years, silhouetted by the revolving lights and radiating excitement, that is the memory I want to keep.

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Yesterday’s post began my series on recording little lives while simultaneously indulging my OCD and we covered ways of using Shutterfly to effectively manage your photo horde throughout the year.

Today, we move on to video.

I used a hand-held video camera for years and because it usually was not readily available (who carries a video camera in their purse everywhere they go?) I took very little video.  Oh just thinking of all those unpreserved moments makes me nauseous.

Then I was gifted one of those Flip Video devices, which was nice and compact and I recorded a lot more video but did not really know what to do with it to put it into a format we could enjoy so I held back a little.

Now, however, with the awesome resolution and video capabilities of the iPhone, I record anything and everything at the drop of a hat.  I enjoy being able to pull out my phone and relive cute moments and family members can witness events through a text message or email that they would otherwise miss.

But how to compile and preserve these videos…

Let me introduce you to a friend with whom you might already be acquainted – Pixorial.  Pixorial is an online video management tool.  You can upload video clips, edit them and create movies using music and text  and even create your own DVDs.

You can see how this, like Shutterfly, has the potential to become a major time-sucker.  So here’s my plan for getting the most family-moment-preserving bang for your short-on-time buck.

Use the App – Pixorial has a great iPhone app.  It is pretty close to flawless.  Once a week, I utilize my free hand while the baby nurses his nap away to upload any new videos I’ve recorded on my iPhone through the Pixorial app.  You can change the title of the clip right away to something more descriptive if you prefer.  I usually don’t waste my time.  If you do this once a week or so, you do not really need to spend time inputting the date of the video or anything like that because Pixorial notes the date the video was uploaded.  Keep with your schedule and you won’t have to wonder when a certain video was recorded because it will have been within a week of the upload date.

Use the Movie Creator – Once every three months or so, I use the Movie Creator to compile my clips and make a little mini-movie.  You can spend as much or as little time on this as you want.  Sometimes I get fancy with all the text and music and sometimes I just string them all together and hit “Finalize”.  At the end of the year, you should have 4 mini-movies, which you can then compile into One Large Movie.  Why make and compile 4 mini-movies instead of skipping those steps and making one big movie all at once at the end of the year?  Well, if you are like me, you have a lot of one and two minute clips.  Pixorial uses Flash Player and having 50 flash player movie clip windows open at once will likely crash you and will certainly cause seriously unnecessary delay in your movie creating process while you wait an eternity for those things to load every time you enter the Movie Creator.  I’m not knowledgeable enough to explain this completely, you just may want to take my word for it.

Make DVDs/Instant Holiday Gifts – Take your One Large Movie and create a DVD with it.  Make one for you and your little ones to enjoy whenever you want, one for each set of grandparents or extended family (if there is actually anyone in your family other than grandparents who want to watch videos of your kids) as holiday gifts.  Woo-hoo!  More holiday shopping complete!  Combine that with the Shutterfly calendars we discussed yesterday and you have 2 gifts down already!  Now if you are really over the top (not naming names here), order an extra DVD to put in your fireproof safe…just in case.

Now hold on to those movies.  They are evidence.  When your children are bitter, unhappy teenagers who claim that you don’t love them now and never loved them in the past because you will not buy them a car like all the other teenagers, you pull those DVDs full of loving, happy memories out of the fireproof safe and park them in front of that television until they turn those frowns upside down.

Fast forward to the clip where you hold their hands and cheer like your life depends on it as they awkwardly dance on the tops of your feet.  Skip to the one where they take their first stumbley steps to a background of sniffling as you try to hold the camera steady and wipe your eyes at the same time.  Maybe finish off with the one where he runs toward you, arms outstretched below a big googley smile spread across his face as he gets closer and closer and ultimately fills up the camera with his baby cheeks and the camera hits the ground as he knocks you over.  Yep, that’s the one.  The one you always want to keep.

*Note:  This is not a sponsored post in any way and neither are the other posts in this series.  Just my own personal free endorsement for the products I’ve spent countless hours using.

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