A beautiful place

On a recent trip to Nordstrom's I had Eli with me.

As we rode, hand in hand, up the escalator, he would count as we'd end each floor.

One...twoooo...threeee...jump!

Eventually we landed on the third floor. He hopped off and cheered. I walked with him, hand in hand, towards the department that my grandmother would have referred to as the "unmentionables."

Underwear. Rows and rows of women's underwear. Big. Small. Sexy. Utilitarian. Needless to say, the other boys had escaped and were shopping with Brian.

Eli ran forward and cheered. Then he turned and dropped to his knees.

"Mom, I think we should live here."

Not sure if it was the great customer service, the fine fabrics or thinking back to days of being a nursing baby. But whatever it is, I get it, Eli.

As long as they extend us a nice line of credit and keep the cafe open.

A Daddy Shirt

Whenever Eli wears a button-down, cotton, collared shirt, he calls it a "Daddy Shirt."

This morning, he wandered into our room wearing his nightshirt. After saying good morning, he strolled back to his room and came back wearing an open button-down shirt on. He spent the next ten minutes carefully buttoning it.

Then he looked up at Brian and said, "Do you want to dress like me today? Do you want to wear a Daddy shirt, too?"

He walked to the closet and picked out a shirt from Brian's clothes that most closely resembled the one Eli was wearing. He stood there holding the shirt which was as tall as him. When Brian agreed, Eli beamed and then worked carefully to remove it from the hanger.

The pride as he passed it to Brian was immense.

Now if I could just teach him that you typically don't wear vertical stripes with cammo shorts.

Ah well, I'll take what I can get.

Toenails

It's funny those moments. You know those moments that just smack you in the face. The ones that make you question if you are really doing this all right or not?

For me, it seems to happen when I am cutting toenails. Not just any nails, toenails.

For some reason, I seem to realize that my kids toenails have grown to 14 inches long at the most random times. Well, not really the most random times, I should rephrase that. I seem to have a talent for recognizing it at the most exhausted times.

Like last night.

When one such child returned from three nights at Cub Scout camp. And was filthy and exhausted and ramped up all at the same time. And had really long toenails.

I can't control a lot. I work. A lot. And have boys. And a husband who works. A lot. And we do our best. Our clothes are clean. Our house is presentable (just call first). But sometimes in this working parent world things get away from us. Like toenails.

And then the realization that your child could go head to head, or at least paw to foot with a wild animal is too much to bear and it's time to cut the nails.

But they are tired. And you have had three hours of sleep for three nights straight. And need to respond to emails. Oh yeah, and wash underwear so no one goes commando tomorrow.

But there are those hideous nails.

And so you have an all out wrestling match to cut the nails. And you win. Because, for now, you are still bigger. But your kid ends up mad at you and thinking you are the worst parent ever because you helped them maintain podiatric health.

Both of you end up in tears. Over toenails.

Living the dream. Living the dream.



That said, I am sure this is a post that you're happy had no pictures.

Reflections on 8

Eight. How can you be eight?

You can't. I won't let you. Or maybe I will.

But truly, it feels like yesterday that you were this little boy.

My little boy who was so chubby that he would get seven tan lines on his arms where the chubby wrinkles wouldn't let the sun in.

My boy who was content to just chew on his hands and watch the world go on around him.

My boy who didn't bother to roll over until you were nearly a year old because, well, we think it was because you were just happy being.

You were the baby that everyone loved to cuddle. Because you loved to be cuddled.

You became the boy that was full of personality.

The boy that couldn't stop dancing.

The boy with an infectious laugh. And a laugh that changes when you're about to get in trouble. And gives you away every time.

The boy that alternates between reading high school books and giggling over fart jokes on YouTube.

The boy that is the first to say, "I love you." And the last to admit you were wrong.

It's been a delight to be your mom for the past eight years. I look forward to seeing what the next one will bring.

 Happy birthday, Noah.

PR Contingency Plans

Working in public relations for, well, for more years than I care to admit, I know all about planning for unplanned for scenarios.

The "what ifs" are a constant part of the job. So at those interesting moments when my professional and personal life intersect in the world of blogging, I have a particularly soft spot in me for the PR people behind the events.

As I mentioned, we were fortunate enough to be invited to be special guests at Mr. Bubble's 50th birthday party at the Water Park of America this past weekend.

As a part of the event, they were hosting the world's largest bubble bath.

Along the way, I can only imagine they had contingency plans.

What if Mr. Bubble calls in sick?

What if Mr. Bubble falls?

What if he has a wardrobe malfunction?

What if someone slips on the amazing bubbles?

What if the bubble machine doesn't work?

But I am not sure anyone could have anticipated the what if that happened when Caleb and Noah and their new friend, Jackson made an attempt to combine the bubble bath and the bubble beard station.

All I can say is kudos to the entire Mr. Bubble team. For an amazing weekend. And for keeping their cool when three little boys had the time of their lives.

(To the outstanding team behind this event, if it's any consolation, Noah told me that the Mr. Bubble party was "the best day of his life so far!" And Caleb said it was the second best, the first was being born, and that he hopes we get invited to his 60th.)

Can Mr. Bubble Sit?

You know how some kids are scared of characters? Mickey Mouse? And Santa Claus? And Ronald McDonald? And clowns?

Well scratch clowns, I'm in the "they're scary" camp, too.

Evidently Eli is not one of those kids.

We were invited to spend the weekend at the Radisson Water Part of America as special guests for Mr. Bubble's 50th birthday party. (And for those of you who are in the Twin Cities, you should come by tomorrow!)

But ever since we checked in tonight, Eli has been fascinated by Mr. Bubble. And along the way has had some great questions:

Mom, why can't Mr. Bubble talk?

Mom, would Mr. Bubble float?

Mom, can Mr. Bubble sit?

Mom, does Mr. Bubble wear jammies?

Mom, why do I have to wear pants at dinner but Mr. Bubble doesn't have to wear pants?

Mom, why doesn't Mr. Bubble close his mouth?

Mom, I gotta go potty. How does Mr. Bubble go potty?

 

Good questions little man. Good questions.

Caught between a hug and a fistbump

I am realizing that, as a parent, change is inevitable. Kids are exactly like that old saying about the weather. Don’t like it? Wait a bit and it will change. And so it goes with kids.

Just when you think you have a stage or moment or dynamic figured out, they grow through it and into the next one.

But the one we are leaving and heading into has been alternately exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

Going from big kid to being an independent person. Caleb started to make his transition towards more and more independence early on. He was the kid who asked me back in kindergarten if I could stop hugging him when I dropped him off at school and just to tousle his hair instead. He was the one who offered early on -- when he didn’t like what was for dinner – to just make his own.

While it’s amazing to watch this little person become a person, it’s still hard. Hard to let out the leash. To let him bike beyond that literal and proverbial end of the alley and head around the block.

Yesterday Caleb had his end of the year school play. At home, he was very excited that I was going to be able to make it. I got there early and grabbed a front row seat. As the kids filed in, he caught my eye and gave me the ever-so-slightest head nod and eyebrow twitch.

I watched him closely through the entire performance. You could tell he was feeling caught too. Trying to decide whether to march and sing with abandon. Or to dial the enthusiasm back and play it cool. Whenever he met my eyes, he opted for the later. Playing it cool.

Afterwards each parent reconnected with their kids. Some ran to their parents and hugged and kissed them. Some bickered. About what, I have no idea. Caleb walked up to me and simply asked,

Did you like it, Mom?



I did! I loved it Caleb.

He let out a sly smile and held up his fist to receive a fist bump.

Bump.

Thanks for being here. Have a great day, Mom. See you tonight.

Yes, transitions are hard. But they are good, too.

Tube heads

Here’s a little secret that isn’t really even a secret. I let my kids watch TV.

Sometimes they even sit far too close.

No, they’re not zoning out to Real Housewives. Or Cops (is Cops even still on?). I even had to break my Today Show addiction as they got older as I swore that every show they were talking about something that kids totally didn’t need to hear. (And no, I am not talking about the cooking segments or colon screenings.)

And no they’re not just watching PBS and Discovery Channel either. Sometimes it’s something educational and sometimes it’s Looney Tunes.

My kids don’t watch a lot of TV. As I tell them, I refuse to allow them to become tube heads. Most days the TV is never touched.

But here is the deal. I think it’s a good thing. No, not in place of reading or writing or running or playing. Because they do all those things, too.

They go to school every morning at 7:45. Even in the summer. Because when you have two working parents you don’t really have summers, do you? And they get picked up 10 hours later. They are on as much as I am. Thinking, learning, doing...and for them, unlike me, they also spend a good deal of time climbing, jumping and running.

It’s exhausting.

I know when I get home I want nothing more than some quiet, perhaps a glass of wine and some inane TV show. They clearly don’t seek the quiet, and they can’t have the wine, but I get the need for downtime. For a mental break.

Not every day. And not for long. But sometimes it’s exactly what they need.

I have no guilt about it.

Then again, as I sat down to write this the power converter behind our house blew up and we lost power for the next seven hours. I am going to tell myself that it really wasn’t the parenting gods telling me I was wrong.

Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles

Yes, he will probably hate me someday for having taken these photos.

And by him, I mean Eli, not Brian.

And then he will have kids of his own and he will get it.

That there is no simpler, greater joy than watching your kid play with bubbles.

And then being able to put all of the messy towels and rugs in the wash.

But if he thinks this is fun, just wait...because our family was invited to be one of five families attending the 50th birthday party as special guests of Mr. Bubble at the Radisson Water Park of America this weekend where they will be hosting the "Worlds Largest Bubble Bath."

Best part about that? Kids will be thrilled to have a bubble-filled staycation and I can hide those "problem bathing suit" areas behind massive amounts of bubbles.

Bubbles for the win.

Just remember

He may be the little brother.

He may get his way more than you do. He may get in the way more than you do.

He may walk on your games. And steal your chips. And color on your homework.

He may. He will. He was. He is.

But no matter what, he will always be the little brother who wanted to cuddle up and sleep with you.

And you were the big brother who considered it a tremendous treat to cuddle up and sleep with him.