Episode five

Last week, Oliver turned five.  It was an exciting birthday for a lot of reasons.  He's now old enough to know when his birthday is and get excited about it.  There's the anticipation of the day, the birthday shirt, the cake, the presents, and just the narcissistic nature of the day.  And this year, Oliver got his first real birthday party.  I did a party for Oliver's second birthday, but it was more like "hey friends and neighbors, come over and have a cupcake and ohbytheway, it's Oliver's birthday."  (In fact, that might be what the invitation said.)  This year was about him -- he picked the theme, and we invited his friends from daycare.  It's the last year he'll be with them, so it seemed like a good point to let him do a real birthday party.  They know each other well, and the parents usually know who at least some of the other kids in the class are.

We had planned well in advance for this birthday, and so my parents and my sister and nephew were able to come for the event. I had made the invitation to my sister somewhat jokingly -- to see if her husband would come and help with Jedi Training Camp for Oliver's birthday -- and she happily surprised me by saying they'd love to come if possible.  This is the first time any of my family has been in town for one of the kid's birthdays.  We usually don't make a big thing out birthdays, so it's not something worth traveling for.  And none of their birthdays happen over a break of any kind.  But this was fun.  And exciting.  And extremely well planned (I mean, my sister and I were doing, so of course).  And so we were all able to come together on what turned out to be an absolutely beautiful fall day.

Oliver's actual birthday was on a Thursday.  The night before he and Emmeline helped me make sugar cookies shaped like the ships in Star Wars (thank you, Williams Sonoma for the cookie cutters) for him to take for snack the next day.  He also got to wear his Little Mermaid Ariel birthday shirt.  On Thursday morning, Wes and I let him open one gift since Wes was not going to be home that evening.  He opened his Yoda watch, which he also proudly wore to school.  We measured him on the stick that shows his height at each birthday, and his growth from last year was pretty clear.  (He'd been to the pediatrician the day before for his well-child checkup, and I learned there he'd grown almost 3 inches in the last year).

That afternoon, after a huge thunderstorm that wracked the city during go-home traffic, Oliver got the Skype with aunt and uncle and cousins in Florida while he opened up their gift, a Lego Star Wars book that he now looks at every evening before bedtime.  Grandma Kay came over to have dinner with us, as well as a small ice cream cake I got from Ben and Jerry's.  We wore party hats, sang happy birthday, and Oliver opened his gifts from her -- two Star Wars action figures.  And at the end of the night, after all the excitement was over, he went to sleep on his new Star Wars sheets.  (Are you seeing the theme here?)

Friday saw the beginning of several days of beautiful weather.  My parents arrived in town in the early afternoon, and Laura and Maddox arrived by plane a few hours later.  A few of us took Oliver to baseball practice, followed by dinner.  Laura and I sat up late into the evening making light sabers out of pool noodles and duct tape, naming our light saber moves for training camp, and coming up with ideas for the few activities and making a schedule to get ready the next day. My mom made the chocolate cupcakes and icing.  And fortunately everyone fell asleep easily.

Saturday was a busy day.  Wes and my dad took Oliver to his baseball game while my mom baked the birthday cake and iced it, and Laura and I got the backyard ready for about a dozen of Oliver's friends and their parents.  The kids had a brief rest after naptime, and we got the balloons up on the mailbox just in time for the first birthday guests to arrive.  My mom made Oliver a real Jedi robe for this birthday, and he wore it during his party.  (Actually, Oliver wore Emme's, which she was afraid of.  The length was better for him running around.  And I wore Oliver's.)  When the kids arrived, they colored Star Wars pictures at the picnic table and played on the new swing set.  Then Laura and I ran Jedi training camp.  We taught the kids three moves -- the swing and slash, the step and stab, and the no-look toss and turn.  (I included the last one because I thought it would be hilarious to see the kids trying to master it!)  All of them were really into it.  Some had donned their training tunics that Laura cut out of brown fabric earlier in the day, and they all looked adorable with their green light sabers.

Once camp was done, we went on our first mission around the front of the house to find Stormtroopers.  Laura and I had hung black and white balloons on our trees with Stormtrooper faces on them, and the kids used their new skills to beat them into submission.  When we were making the turn around the front of the house towards the back, where the balloons were hung, my dad growled at the kids from back by the trees, and two of the little guys were ready to turn back and find their moms!  The second mission was an obstacle course, and at the end of the course was a basket with lots of items, including pictures of Princess Leia.  So the kids had to complete the course and "save the princess."  The third mission was to shoot water with a water pump through either a hula hoop or, for those skilled enough, one of our baby floats, both hanging from a tree limb.  We told the kids they were practicing their X-Wing shooting skills so they could blow up the Death Star like Luke did.

The finale of the planned activities was the kids using the Jedi force to get the garage door to open.  Behind it was one of our friends, dressed as a Darth Vader with his red light saber.  He came out, and the kids who weren't ready to run in fear pummeled him with blows!  We had to finally stop them, lest Sean suffer actual damage.  They thought it was great.

Afterwards, we did cake and ice cream.  The kids could choose between the dark side (chocolate cupcakes) or the light side (vanilla cake).  I'd asked people not to bring presents, which meant the kids could just enjoy themselves (and he got plenty of gift anyway, including two Lego Star Wars sets from Aunt Laura).  The kids all played for another 20 minutes or more before their parents hauled them off, probably good because the level of light saber play was getting a bit violent for me.  Clean up was quick and easy, and everyone was excited to put their feet up and watch college football until bedtime.

It was thrilling to watch Oliver at his very first party.  He was gracious, though he did start to melt down by the end, likely very tired after the baseball game, no nap, and then anticipation of the party.  He can be a little socially awkward in new settings, but he does great with those he already knows.  I cannot say that I'm in disbelief at having a five year old.  I've seen him grow from a tiny baby to a happy toddler to a thoughtful preschooler, and I know just where the time has gone.  And I cannot say I'd wish him back to babyhood.  He was my easiest, for sure, but it's just too much fun getting to talk to him, see him learn, and enjoy his fresh perspective on the world.  Happy birthday, Buddy Jeeps.  I can't wait to see what the next year bring us!

A first

Zola is now one.  I no longer have an infant in my home, but the toddler I have gained is something to behold.  She is walking, everywhere and all the time.  She is trying very hard to communicate, though there are no clear words there.  Today she was sitting in the yard, and I was in a chair on the driveway.  She got fussy and put up her arms towards me said, "Mama."  It's the clearest I've seen her direct a word, correctly, at something or someone.  She has clear wants and a temper that's come out.  When she's mad, she falls on the floor and throws her head back, sometimes with a whack that leads to a whole new set of tears.  She lovey and likes to be in my lap whenever possible, though terribly squirmy while there.  She likes shoes -- any she can find.  She still has a belly.

I decided to do a first birthday party for Zola for a few reasons.  I've done one for the other two kids, but that was at age two, when I thought they could understand a little more.  Plus I always had ulterior motives for those parties.  With Oliver, we had been in our house for a little over a year, had met a lot of neighbors, and we were finally settled enough to let people in to see what we'd "done" with the place.  It worked out as a chance to socialize with people we otherwise only really talked to in the front yard or in passing.  With that tradition in place, I tried the same thing with Emmeline.  We were about to move to our new house and ready to share the news that Zola was coming home to us soon.  Unfortunately, horrible weather meant that almost no one came, and we were left with hoards of cupcakes.  So when Zola's first birthday approached, I thought that the same setup -- cupcakes, no presents, invite the neighbors -- would be a great way to see more of our new neighbors, many of whom we hardly ever see, and let them see our children.  A lot of people came and introduced themselves to Wes while I was overseas with Zola, and I thought it would be fun for those same people to see that little girl celebrate her first year.  But it was more than that.  I don't have as many memories with Zola as I did with the other two at age one.  And more importantly, I don't have as many memories for Zola later in life.  I thought doing a party would be a great way to celebrate a day we weren't originally there for and to make some memories of her early childhood sooner rather than later.
Her actual birthday was on a Friday, and we did a few fun things then, too.  She wore her birthday shirt, a tradition I started with Oliver at age 3 and his little sisters have done from the beginning.  I thought it went just great with her tutu, and the teachers at daycare just loved it.  We put up the birthday sign, too, and Oliver and Emmeline were very excited to tell everyone that Zola was now one.  Since Oliver had baseball practice that night, and Zola is often in bed by 7PM, we didn't do anything special for dinner.  I did give her the one gift we bought for her -- a Fischer Price toy she'd loved at her cousin's house.  It talks and plays

music, and she'll push the buttons until she gets a song and then dance.

On Saturday, my parents came into town. I'd invited them to join us, knowing we were going to do a little party of some kind, and they were able to come.  I made the party a bunny theme, since that's Zola's animal -- her lovey named Lapin (French for bunny), the image on a t-shirt I bought for her before she even came home.  Plus our backyard is full of bunny rabbits.  Brown ones at that.  My mom and I made orange, strawberry, and carrot cupcakes, which seemed fitting with the backyard, bunny theme.  I made unsweetened tea and lemon water.  And the kids bagged snack sizes of Annie's Organic bunnies, in case anyone needed a snack.  The weather was beautiful in the afternoon, when we had it.  It was looking like rain, but the skies stayed pretty clear until well after we cleaned up.  Maybe a dozen people ended up coming, a few neighbors, a few friends from school and work.  The kids played hard, a few people brought cards and gifts, but mostly the adults just stood and talked. It was simple.  It was fun.  Memories were made.

Celebrating Zola's first birthday was something different than with Oliver and Emmeline.  It somehow seemed more important to do.  We are not big birthday people, and there was nothing about their first birthdays that made me feel like it needed special noting.  But this was a way to show her that of all the things we wish, we would give anything to tell her more about the day she came into the world and the first few weeks afterwards.  In reality, we don't know when Zola came into this world.  But every year, on this day, we will celebrate that she was.

To my daughter, who is two

Dear Emmeline,

I'm sitting on the couch in the living room of the house we brought you home to two years ago, and above me, I can hear you running around your room more than an hour into your "nap."  Your father and I have been up to reprimand you at least three times, once having removed a wad of wipes from your bed and another a pile of toys you took from the toy bin.  (Your dad said when he walked in you looked at him, smiled, and yawned.)  This moment, perhaps as well as any other one, embodies what it has been like to be your mother for the past two years.

If I could choose a few words that describe you, I would say busy, independent, spirited, and tough.  You have been a busy little girl since conception.  I remember sitting in one of my first classes as a PhD student, while one of my classmates looked at me with this strange face.  She could see the sharp kicks I was getting from you in utero and couldn't believe how strong you were.  Once you were born, you squirmed.  Once you could crawl, you were off.  And now that you are totally mobile, well, you are everywhere -- most recently climbing the couch and standing on chairs to reach the light switches.  Yesterday, your dad and I just laughed as you stood on a step stool in the bathroom for ten minutes or more turning on and off three switches.  In the last few months, you have become very independent, sometimes thanks to the six inches the step stool gives you.  Independent is not one of the many words you know, but there are three others that pretty much say it all: "Emme do it."  It's usually four words, though: "No," -- in response to whatever we are trying to help you with -- "Emme do it."   You are also a very willful child.  When your daddy came home from the hospital after I gave birth, he told your grandmother, "She likes to be held."  And you've been fussing your way into whatever you want since then -- or trying to.  You fussed as a baby.  You cry now, until I tell you that I don't know what you want unless you tell me.  You've been in the "terrible twos" of tantrums for at least six months.  You just have certain expectations in life, and "no," "not now," and "wait" are not words you like to hear.  But you're learning.  Sometimes when I've told you the same thing over and over again, you parrot it back to me with the same intonation.  So I know you're listening, even if it's not something you want to hear.  Spirited is maybe a nice way to say willful.  You have this adult-size personality in this little bitty body.  (We haven't weighed you recently, but I doubt you're much more than 25 pounds, the size your brother was at age one.)  And yet you take a lot of energy to keep up with.  You make these great faces, roll and cut your eyes, and recently have begun to harass your older brother, who is surely the meeker of the two of you.  "Sit down!" you tell him at dinner.  And when he's acting up, "Time out."  He doesn't think much of it (and for that matter, neither do I, though it's hilarious to watch).  And in the midst of your busyness and independence, you fall down, a lot, and usually don't make much of it.  Complete strangers have commented at the playground on how tough you are.  I suppose you've been made this way, quite literally, through the four surgeries you've had since birth.  Who else has hunks of skin removed and sewn back together without needing really any pain medication afterwards?

You are lots of other things, too.  At two, you can already converse with me, though not everyone else would understand it.  You used to answer every question with "yeah," like Sandra Bullock at the beginning of Miss Congeniality.  You've recently switched to "okay."  You are daytime potty trained (with an 80% confidence margin), which is just fantastic.  You love to read, maybe even more than your brother if that's possible.  "Read" was one of your first words, always used as a command.  Sometimes I think you say you need to go potty just so we'll read to you.  You can almost sing the ABC song, can count to ten, and can sing several little tunes.  You know your siblings' names and love to go pick up Oliver when I get you from daycare.  Your teachers at daycare think you're hilarious.

There are so many little things I wish I could capture about you right now.  Your funny run.  The sassy glint in your eye when I go up to get you after nap and you're sitting in your bed completely naked.  The way you and Oliver play together.  The way you lie down on Lucy's bed with her and pat her, or how excited you get to feed her.  How you laugh with glee after she takes the bone out of your pocket (one of your favorite games with her).  The way you ask to watch something before bedtime -- "Daniel Tiger?" you ask.  Or "Poppins?"  Or one of my favorites, "Soobya," which translates to "Scooby Doo, where are you?"

One of the things I love most about you is that you are a momma's girl.  When you feel sick or scared or upset, you want me.  (Of course, when I tell you "no," you want daddy, but still.)  You love to sit in my lap, and when I don't realize that's what you want, you climb up and insert yourself in my lap -- usually with a book.  I can't tell you how many times I've been sitting at the computer, checking email, and you're suddenly there in my lap asking to do letters on Starfall.  It's that kind of persistence and determination that I think will get you far in life.  I just hope that at the end of the day, you still climb into my lap and read with me -- for a while, at least.

In the next few weeks, we will bring home your little sister, and I have no idea what you will think of her.  I am confident that, over time, you will come to love her just as you do your older brother, but I don't think you will instantly be the doting older siblings that Oliver was with you.  And that's fine.  You'll have lots to teach her in time, and she you.

I hope you know, more than anything, how much I love you.  I tell you so every night, and I'm pretty sure that some nights, you try to tell me back.  I so wanted to have a daughter, and you have been so much more than I could have hoped for.  And I cannot wait to see who you become.

With love and nostalgia, your adoring momma.

Four

Several weeks ago, I became a mom to a four-year-old.  Oliver had really been looking forward to his birthday.  There were several things leading up to it -- he started soccer, for example -- and so it really only got talked about for a few days before.  Unlike last year, Oliver seemed to understand a little better what it meant to have a birthday.  He has also been to a lot of birthday parties recently, though, ones at inflatable bounce houses and indoor play spaces, so his idea of a birthday is actually a birthday party, and one that is fairly grandiose for what usually happens around our house.

On the day of his birthday, he wore his four shirt -- which has room for him to grow.  We took pictures, and he went off to school.  I ran errands in the morning, then picked him up for lunch, and we had a mom-son meal in the lunchroom at my office space.  Faculty and friends came by and wished him a happy birthday.  He went back to school for nap, after which time he shared cupcakes I'd taken with his friends for snack.

After school, I picked him and Emme up the stroller with balloons tied to it.  Oliver thought it was great.  We even walked by the daycare so his friends could see.  We got home to find Grammy Kay already there.  Dinner was macaroni and cheese, fruit, applesauce, with a cookies-and-cream ice cream cake for dinner.  Oliver had been saying for a week that he wanted Cookie Monster (sometimes Elmo) and Snow White on his cake.  I genuinely have no idea how he even knows who Snow White is. But I went with it, found pictures of each online, printed them off, and added them to his cake.

We sang, he blew out the candles, we all ate, and he was soon ready for presents.  He got a new baseball cap from Grammy Kay (the old one having been "retired" because it smelled so bad, something repeated cleanings could not longer remedy) and a book with edible worms from his Gandpa John.  He got a very cool card from his Uncle George and Aunt Karen.  It had a birthday cake inside.  When he blew in a special place, the candles blew out and the card sang "Happy Birthday to You."  It was a big hit with both him and Emme.  He got his first big-boy Legos from his Uncle Adam, Aunt Jennifer, and cousins Dylan and Reece.  "Emme" gave him a fire truck. And from mom and dad he got a LeapPad 2 (like an iPad for kids, but cheaper, more durable, and no web surfing).  I had it already loaded, ready to go, and he's used it a lot since.

After dinner and a bath, Oliver got measured in the closet, where we've marked his growth since his first birthday.  I can't remember exactly, but he's grown about three inches since last year.  He's four years old in size 5/6 clothes (with some room to grow into them over the course of the winter).

It wasn't at a bounce house or a play space, but Oliver clearly loved his birthday.  He keeps asking when he's going to turn five and seems really disappointed to hear it's almost a full year from now.  I think this age might be my favorite for birthdays.  It doesn't take a whole lot (of money at least) for them to get really excited, and they just enjoy it so thoroughly without the letdown afterward of life returning to normal.

Big girl

And so it happened once again that a child in my house turned one.  Emme's first birthday came and went with less fanfare that I would probably have liked, but she's one and won't remember any of it.  (Maybe I should have thought of that before I started documenting every detail of my kids' lives here...).  The big birthday started on Friday with her one-year checkup at the pediatrician's office.  Oliver came with us, both because it was an early appointment and I didn't want to take him to daycare before it, but also because I wanted to have his ears checked.  He so often has ear infections without me knowing it, and if he continues to have them over the next six months, we may have to think about a second set of tubes (since the first has now completely fallen out).  Emme measured in at 18 lbs., 9 oz. (15th percentile), 29 1/4" (55th percentile), and head circumference of 17 1/2" (30th percentile).  She's little compared with Oliver's 23+ pounds at his first birthday (and tiny compared to his current 36 pounds!), but I love it.  The nurse actually measured her twice because she hadn't gained any weight since her last appointment.  I pointed out that her December weight included a 2-3 pound cast, but regardless she did fall in her percentile.  Her surgery, the subsequent infection, and her general business probably account for the slowed growth, but there's no doubt she's overall healthy and developing right on schedule.

It turns out that both the kids had an infection in one ear (opposite the ears that were infected at Oliver's three-year checkup).  They're both on amoxicillin.  It baffles me because neither usually shows any indication that they're in any discomfort.  Dr. Rauth is repeatedly shocked at how bad Oliver's ears can look (and yes, she does know what his ears look like healthy as a comparison) without him running a fever or complaining.

They both went to daycare after the appointment so that I could get some work done.  Emme wore her first birthday onesie that Aunt Laura gifted her at Christmas.  Before I picked them up in the afternoon, I stopped by Harris Teeter and got two helium birthday balloons that I knew they would like.  I also put back up the multi-man tent in the living room, thinking that would be a big hit.  The kids' enjoyed both he balloons and the tent (while Lucy liked neither).

Wes had an evening shift on Friday, so we waited to do cupcakes and such until Saturday.  I did make Emme's mark in the doorway that night -- I thought it was more important that it was "official" than that Wes was there for it.  Consequently, though, I couldn't get any really good pictures of Emme standing next to it.  Oliver somehow helped me get the mark made, but that was about it.  Both kids were in bed a little early, and I wasn't far behind.

Saturday morning the kids and I did a bunch of errands (it becomes a "bunch" when you go to both Target and Wal-Mart and Costco in the same morning).  It ended, as I had repeatedly promised Oliver, with a trip to The Painted Cupcake for Emme's birthday cupcakes.  Emme wore her "1" shirt that day, though it didn't make it all the way until dinner time.  When evening finally came, Emme was fussy, Oliver wouldn't eat any of the dinner, and Wes and I were both in foul moods.  But I didn't want to wait another night to celebrate, so I relented and let Oliver have half a cupcake, even though he didn't have any real dinner.  He and Emme split a strawberry one with pink frosting.  We did the one candle, we sang the song, and I think Emme went to bed thirty minutes later.  We finished the mixed half dozen of cupcakes (some kind of chocolate, peanut butter, pumpkin, and others) over the next few days, and they were the best I've had in Nashville.  Very moist, just enough icing, not sickeningly sweet.

There were no presents this year.  I will be sure in future years, when she's old enough to remember, to have a birthday present for her, even so soon after Christmas.  Wes's birthday (and my sister's) is right around Christmas, so I've heard enough to know that there has to be a distinct celebration for it to feel real.

So the day is done.  I wish there had been something that felt a little more special.  I wish I had better pictures to remember it all.  But regardless, it happened, and I now once again have a one-year-old in my house.  Oliver keeps asking if Emme is still a baby now that she's one and kind of walking.  I don't know that I have an answer for him.

One year old

The big 0-3!

Cupcakes with Grandma Kay --
and Aunt Laura via Skye on the iPhone!

Mmm...icing.

Wearing his "3" shirt.

Getting his annual measurement.

Grew 3 3/4" since last year!

The birthday boy

From this...

to this.

A letter to my son, on the occasion of his second birthday

My dearest Oliver,
Yesterday, you turned two years old.  I won't say, "I can't believe you're already two!" because I can.  I have literally watched you grow up in front of my eyes.  I have spent more time with you during your short life than any other person.  I was there when your heart started beating.  I was there when you took your first breath, took your first step, and said your first word.  I know almost everything there is to know about you.

You are one of the most amazing people I know.  You are kind and funny and happy and curious and very, very sweet.  You love your dad and me and Lucy.  You get so excited when daddy and I come and pick you up from daycare or come home at the end of the day.  You talk about Lucy from the moment I pick you up from daycare, and you have to give her a kiss at bedtime -- either her or her stuffed dog stand-in whom you've started sleeping with.  You love to see your grandmas and talk on the phone with your Aunt Laura, getting closer and closer to the phone as you talk.  You seem to like your other relatives, too, even if you're not sure who they are.  You like routine.  You're happiest when you know what is happening next, and as long as you know, you're usually okay with it.  You love, love bread.  Seriously.  I think you may like bread more than almost anything (well, maybe right now you like the tractor more, it's hard to say).  You cry when you finish your bread at night and can't have any more.  Seriously.

These days you have a lot to say.  Since you had your tubes put in, you've spoken more and more, but recently, you've become as talkative as your Aunt Laura.  From the time I pick you up in the afternoon until you sit down for dinner (when your mouth is full), you talk non-stop.  I only understand about half the words you say, but I love it when you talk to me.  You tell me ALL about your day.  You tell me where we're going ("Oliver's car") and what we're doing ("upstairs...mama's keys").  You try to repeat even hard words, and you have the funniest enunciation.  I wish I could freeze your words in a time capsule to release later in life, because I love the sound of them.  You have a funny laugh, a fake cry, and the most pathetic pouty lip I've ever seen in my life.  You're started to have tantrums -- just little ones -- and you drop or throw something, then stomp your feet.  It only lasts a minute or two, so it's not too bad, and it's the right age for it.  You wake up in a great mood every day.  This morning you met me at the door when I came upstairs, giggling at my mini-fingers, then ran to the diaper drawer to get your diaper and the wipes out.  You go to bed fine, too, with kisses all around after "two books" (which is usually three, at least).  You're learning to use the potty, though not perhaps as fast as daddy and I would like, but the process is funny to watch.

You are slowly learning to be with other people.  You started daycare last year when I went back to school, and now it's part of your day.  You have a little trouble going back after you've been home for a few days, and you're still getting used to your new classroom (it's hard to switch from "Anna and Ashli" to "Tanga and Mini," but you're learning).  You don't talk nearly as much around other people as you do at home, but that's okay.  Your dad's the same way.  You mimic other people a lot.  Just tonight you licked your fingers off after I did the same.  You read books the same way as me (and love books as much as I do), and you play with your toys with the same focus as your dad has when he works.  You are a very busy guy most days.  You like cars and trucks and tractors and your lawnmower and tools.  You like your pots and pans and baby doll, but maybe not as much.  You've started to watch little bits of Sesame Street and ask for "Big Bird" when you get tired.  You know what the word "patient" means and "careful."  You give me hugs when I ask for them.  You answer every question with "no" -- but nicely.  You like it when daddy swings you by your arms and legs onto the bed, and recently you really like juice (watered down, but still, "juice").  You like to help -- with the vacuum, the laundry, or feeding the dog.

In a few months, things will change at home.  You won't be the only special person in the house anymore.  You'll have a baby sister then.  She'll cry and have to sit in my lap a lot and take up a lot of attention.  I think you'll be curious about her at first.  I think you'll want her to be quiet sometimes or to not have to share your toys sometimes.  But I also think you'll really like her.  I think you'll want to give her kisses and tickle her feet.  I think you'll read books to her like you do for Lucy and laugh when she starts to smile at you and babble.  I don't know what you'll think of her when you're older, but your daddy and I hope, a lot, that you'll like each other and want to see each other still, even when you don't have to.

There have been so many times over the past two years that I've wanted to stop time and keep you just as you are.  But I can't and I won't.  I will miss the baby I gave birth to, the one whose face I still see when you fall asleep in the car or snuggle your head on my shoulder when you don't feel well.  And soon enough, I fear, I will miss the feel of your little hand gripped tightly around my finger when we walk places.  But with that will come new things, I think.  It's clear I'm biased, but it's fair to say that you just keep getting better.  I like you more and more every day, and I can't imagine it getting still better -- but I hope it will.  You are truly the delight of my life, and your father's, too.  You have made parenting more fun than we ever imagined it would be.  You are not the only thing in our lives, but you are for sure the most important one.  We both love you, very, very much and always will.

So keep growing, little boy.  Keep laughing and playing and talking and throwing temper tantrums.  Keep amazing us.  You've captured the hearts of almost everyone I know, and my guess is you'll continue to do it for a long time.  You most certainly forever have mine.

You will always be my little boy, my firstborn, my baby.  With love, your mama

"I'm two!"

Oliver's second birthday was yesterday, and it was definitely a very fun day.  He spent the morning helping me clean up the upstairs of the house, do some laundry, and pick up the cupcakes for his party.  After some playtime outside, lunch, and a three-hour nap that almost ran into party time, he was in a great mood for our more than 40 guests.

I knew when I decided to do a birthday party that I didn't want something traditional.  Oliver's too young to do a lot of playing with other kids, per se, but he does like seeing people he knows and doesn't mind having other kids over.  I didn't want the work of all the accoutrements of a kids party (games, favors, etc.), nor did I want a bunch of new toys for Ollie.  So I decided we'd do a drop-in. I invited over 50 people -- neighbors that we've met, some of whom have kids; friends from Peabody who know and have met Oliver; one of Wes's colleagues with his family; and even a new friend from the neighborhood who also went to Davidson (though a year or two ahead of me).  I sent out an invitation specifying that people should come between 4 and 5 (not from 4 to 5) and that they should bring no presents.  Turns out when you offer cupcakes, just for dropping by for a few minutes, with no expectations of a gift, people show up -- in droves.

I did manage -- in addition to cleaning the house top to bottom and doing about 5 loads of laundry -- to put up a "Happy Birthday!" sign and arrange some balloons that a dear and very helpful friend brought.  I also made a slide show of Oliver's first two years, set to music, to play on the television -- and that someone made fun of me for later (and that almost made me cry when I watched it).  People started coming right around 4pm and didn't stop until almost 5:30pm.  And while I was comfortable with having this party without Wes there -- he had a shift from 9am-5pm -- I didn't realize that it meant I would be alone in mixing and mingling with these many guests.  I managed it, of course, but it's fair to say that I was totally worn out the by the end of it all.  But it was so much fun!  We sang "Happy Birthday!" to Ollie about 15 minutes after people started arriving, which made him really nervous.  Everyone loved the cupcakes.  The kids migrated into the backyard at that point to play with Oliver's outside toys.  He did a good job sharing, though there were some pouty lip moments when someone else took the lawnmower.  My friend Rachel, who brought the balloons, stepped in as a surrogate mom (since Oliver knows her and will go to her for comfort) while I mingled with the partygoers.  She helped Oliver feel comfortable in the masses of people and throngs of children, and she stepped in when he got upset.  It was a huge help to not be his sole source of comfort through all this, and I think we both enjoyed it more as a result.


When Wes got home around 6:30pm, we did the whole thing again.  We repeated some of the traditions we started last year -- cupcakes with the Happy Birthday hat, pictures in the bathtub, and a new height mark in the closet (He's now 29.5 pounds, 68%tile, and 35 inches, 63%tile.  He grew 5 1/2 inches in the last year.  According to this calculation, he'll top out at 5' 10.5", about his daddy's height).

It was a great day.  I was tired, very tired, at the end, but it was worth it.  Ollie probably won't get another birthday party until he's five and has some opinion about who should be there.  And I still don't know if we'll do presents.  He was gifted this year by his grandmother with a lift-the-flap-book, some children's CDs, and (most importantly) a John Deere tractor and hauling trailer, which he takes to bed at night.  Wes and I got him new sheets with old-fashioned pick-up trucks on them.  And my sister got him several super-cute t-shirts, including a "Big Brother" t-shirt that we'll probably save for January.  Two of our party guests also broke the rule and contributed two more books to his every-growing library, and my dear friend Kim sent him a gift certificate to add to that library.

I spent Saturday afternoon teaching Oliver to say, "I'm two!".  He couldn't quite get down the two fingers, but he did learn the phrase.  Unfortunately, he won't say in front of almost anyone.  Not to anyone at the party.  Not to his daycare teachers.  Not even on video for posterity.  But he is two nonetheless, and his ticker now counts down to 3.  Happy birthday, sweet boy.

Like sand in an hourglass...

I just realized I have to change Oliver's ticker.  He's made it all the way to two.  That doesn't scare me nearly as much as realizing he's now on his way to three!

You say it's your birthday

And so it happened. My little boy turned one. There was no big party, no pile of presents, no cake mashed all over his face. But he turned one all the same. There was no stopping it.

We did spend the day together as a family. We ventured out to the local Babies 'R Us for some swinging baby gates for the top and bottom of the stairs (oh yeah, did I mention he fell down the stairs the other day?). Wes spent the better part of the day installing child locks in the kitchen cabinets and putting the gates up on the stairs. We did get cupcakes and put a candle on one -- and a hat on the kid -- and sang happy birthday. My mother and sister joined us over the phone. Lots of people called and emailed saying "Happy Birthday!" and "We got him a present, but it's not there yet...". And hey, that's okay, because he's one, and didn't know it was his birthday, and he doesn't need lots of presents on any birthday, and well, we didn't get him one either (can we count the baby gates as his present? Seems more of a punishment in some ways). We even started a tradition of measuring his height in the doorway of the bedroom closet. Of course, it would have been better were he actually already standing on his own, but it worked well enough nonetheless.

We have on days since received books and puzzles, including the most prized giraffe, from Grandma Martha, and a box of blocks and 18- and 24-month clothes from Aunt Jennifer and Uncle Adam. Aunt Laura has evidently found a gift so exciting that she can hardly stand not to tell us what it is.

It is a bit odd now, when people ask how old he is, to say, "He's one." I'd been saying it before his birthday (in true un-Liz-like fashion, I've never been one for labeling his life in weeks), but now it's one-plus. I went to breakfast with my mom and Oliver this morning, and there were lots of other kids in the restaurant. Instead of noticing the older ones, though, I noticed all the babies. I sometimes feel like I don't remember what he was like at that age. He still seems like a baby because I don't have daily contact with a little baby. And yet I can tell he's growing and changing. So many new skills, faces, movements.

It is now a week since his birthday. Some of his gifts are strewn about the family room while he naps upstairs. When he moves to his new daycare a week from Monday (we got a spot at the campus daycare!), he'll be in the 1-2 year room, having lunch served by the center and having lessons on fruits and textures. I'm excited about the next year and all the ones after that, but let me be the millionth mother to say it: What happened to my baby?

And then he was one