apple picking

This year, we got our act together early and managed to figure out when the Honeycrisp (the perfect apple) season began. So off we went Saturday morning to pick some, along with some inferior but nevertheless pleasing to the boys Golden Delicious. And wow, did we hit the timing just right for this expedition! Blue skies, just a hint of fall chill in the air, and early enough in the season that the crowds weren't overwhelming. The stars aligned, and boys and parents were all in good moods at the same time. We ended up with four bags of apples, three happy boys who got to run (and climb!) out a lot of energy, and one delicious batch of homemade apple muffins the next morning. We also stopped on the way back to play apple fairies to my parents, who made delicious looking fried apples with them. Oh! And in "something for everyone" news, on the way back I spotted some blow molds at a yard sale! I made Mike turn around on the highway, which he was not happy about, and then park by the side of the highway, which he was even more unhappy about, and went up to the sale, hoping against hope that they were in my price range (that is, the amount of cash I had left after spending an outrageous $30 on apples). Score! I got Santa, Mrs. Claus, and two candy canes for $18. I've been looking for some for a while now, and they are usually not that cheap. So this might even be the year that CFHQ finally gets it together enough to do outdoor decorations! Stay tuned.

just like me

I'm told that with his eyebrow up like that, Henry looks just like me. "It's Holli's eyebrow on that baby!" my own mother exclaimed when she caught sight of it. I had already pegged this as one of my favorite shots of Henry from his birthday -- not because I thought he looked like me, but because I tend to like the less perfect shots more than the ones where the subject is looking right at the camera and smiling. So him looking like me is just a bonus. Of course, the eyebrow totally suits him. Little punk.

P.S. Now that I'm looking at it a little more closely, I also quite like Charlie's glowing yellow eyes in the background. They really add ... something.

what i don't write

A friend recently told me that it seems from my blog that I've embraced parenting more fully than she has. I was confused, and told her that most of the time I don't know what I'm doing and that I'm just barely keeping the whole thing together. Then she pointed out that I don't put any of that on my blog. She does, because she wants her children to know that it is hard to be a parent. She doesn't want them to go into it thinking that it will be a walk in the park.

So I started thinking about those things that I don't write. How hard it is to know the right thing to do or the best way to handle a situation. How every choice I make ends with at least one person being miserable while at least one other person is overjoyed. How easy it is to hurt their feelings with a look, with a wrong word, with a harsh or more impatient tone than I intended. How I have carried worry and exhaustion like a constant backpack for seven years now, and feel like I will never get a rest.

And then there's work.

Most of my friends think that being a freelance editor and writer is something to be envied. And in some ways, they're right. I do theoretically get to make my own hours (though in practice, it doesn't work out that way). I don't have a commute. I don't have chatty coworkers or bosses. I can be home with my children and doing the laundry and working all at the same time.

The reality is a little different. If the children are home, they need my attention. They need to be fed and watered and cleaned and played with--and they need these things even if I happen to be in the middle of a job. The laundry is there, staring me in the face, reproaching me for being a pretty crappy homemaker because I'm too focused on my work. The nearly empty fridge mocks my occasional halfhearted efforts to make dinner. I've traded in the bosses for clients, and the chatty coworkers (I still miss you guys!) for a schedule where if I take a break, I don't get paid.

This is the bargain that we made to give the boys a house with a yard, good public schools, tons of family nearby, all the wonderful things that will make their childhoods special, and it's a bargain I'd make again. I am lucky because I have a regular job (basically a hybrid between freelancing and telecommuting, meaning that I have a set schedule and work 40 hours a week, but no benefits). But because I am still officially a freelancer, and because I've been dumped in the past by a sole client that suddenly got bought out, I can't just have one client.

So I work, hard, all the time. I work during the day while the boys are at school, I work at night when they are asleep, I work on the weekends. And the children hate it. It's like a special hell reserved just for me. Once a day, at least one child will ask me why I have to work instead of coloring, or playing games, or taking them somewhere special. It doesn't matter that I played games with them yesterday, or that I made up a fantastic bedtime story for them last night. All that matters to that child at that moment is that I am working instead of devoting myself to him. They don't ask Mike every day why he has to work, which I'm pretty sure has less to do with gender roles than it does with Mike actually leaving the house at the same time every day to go to work, as opposed to sitting in the office, there but not really available. So they save the working parent guilt for me, and they give me Mike's helping too.

Don't worry. I'm not going to turn this blog into my own ongoing rant about the struggles of being a parent. I'm pretty sure that it's not easy for anyone to be a parent. But I do agree with my friend that it's important for the boys to know (someday) that even if it looks easy (Does it look easy? How can that be?), parenting is messy, impossible work. It's a constant bargain of every detail of your life. But in the end, it's a bargain, not a sacrifice. I'm not just giving up my time, my efforts, my sense of self; I'm getting three incredible people to share those things with.

henry at two

Do you remember when Henry was 14 months old and he only said "uh oh" because it was the only thing we said (regularly) that was loud enough for him to hear through all the fluid in his ears? I'm sure you do, because you are a good and attentive audience (and also because I've linked it here for your convenience). Well, friends, it's been a short 10 months since then, and I can tell you that those days are gone for good. At two, Henry is a nonstop chatterbox. He points out every single thing he sees, greets (and charms!) every single person he encounters, and narrates every single moment of his day. Case in point: Yesterday, I picked Henry up from daycare, and I mentioned to the teachers that we would bring treats for his big day today. Two of the teachers in the room were newer, had been there only a few months, and they both asked how old he would be and then immediately guessed he was turning three. "Do you think he looks like a three-year-old?" I asked (not in a sarcastic way, either). The reply came from the director, who has been there since before any of the boys started going: "He certainly talks like one!" The two younger teachers were honestly surprised that he is only two because his speech is so impressive. Henry has definitely been making up for lost time.

Our Henry in some ways is a typical two-year-old. His mood is on a permanent pendulum. He runs around the house investigating (and usually destroying) everything he can get his hands on. He learns new things every day. He has (like Liam before him) figured out how to work every lock and gate in this house. But what Henry wants is not to be a typical two-year-old. What Henry wants is to be a two-year-old who can do everything his brothers can do. He loves the things that they love (Mario Bros., playing the Wii, Star Wars, "wrestling" with Mike at bedtime) and has no idea that he is not quite big enough for those things yet. He just jumps right in, whatever the big boys are doing, and figures out how to do it himself. And we let him, as much as we can. He has his own Mario Bros. figures to play with. We give him a Wii remote with the batteries removed and he happily sits next to whoever is playing, pushing buttons and shaking it along with us. And he is getting a Star Wars Boba Fett lamp for his birthday from his big brothers -- to replace his current age-appropriate Big Bird lamp.

This morning, we all enjoyed some breakfast pound cake for Henry's birthday. He took cupcakes to school with him to share with his friends. And tonight, we will do all the things that Henry wants to do, even if that means totally abandoning our Uno game because he keeps throwing random cards around and messing up the order. And we'll hope that Henry never loses that quality of fearlessness that lets him jump feet first into the things that interest him and figure out a way to make them work.

Happy birthday, Henry!

busy week for t. fairy

Just one short week after Liam lost a tooth front and center, Max has followed suit and lost his first tooth! Max's bottom tooth has been loose for weeks, but he just started crying at mealtime, a sure sign around here that the tooth is really about to come out. Of course, it wouldn't be a Max story without a whole lot of drama. When I went to pull the tooth for him, the boys' friend C., who is older, was here to play. Max was awfully scared (or acting awfully scared) and started crying, even though C. and Liam both assured him that it would feel like such a relief to finally have the tooth out. Still Max was unconvinced and refused to let me pull it.

So I did the only thing I could do: I tricked him. I told him I was just going to wiggle it, then I used a tissue and gently wiggled the thing all around, then pulled it right out. I hid the tooth in the tissue.

"Did you pull my tooth out?" Max demanded suspiciously.

"Why?" I innocently replied. "Does it feel better or something?"

"SO much better!!"

 As Max reported later on the phone to Aunt Bethany, "My mom pulled out my tooth, and then I cried a little, but it felt really good."

before and after

zoo, me?

Saturday morning, Mike had to work. It really stunk. He was one of only two people from his shift who were required to come in and work on Saturday; not coincidentally, he was also one of only two people (why yes, the same two people!) from his shift to have taken a personal day that week. Such is work in the factory -- they will get you for the full five days one way or the other, even if they have to be vindictive pricks to do it.



Anyway, I made the best I could of the situation by heading out for a morning at the zoo with Loni and the boys. Having learned our lesson at the arboretum on Monday, we got there right as they opened. It was a steamy morning, but we happily spent a few hours wandering around. We rode the train around the perimeter, we visited the butterfly house, we stood under the misters, and we saw too many animals to count. The boys particularly liked the river otters and the giant carp. They bought pellets from a vending machine to feed to the fish, and threw them into the stream, causing fish bodies to writhe everywhere in fierce competition for the food. I found it at once compelling and repulsive. You can judge for yourself since I took a handy video. Keep your eye on that sneaky Henry, and at the end you'll see the thing that grossed me out the most about our zoo trip -- having to fish (har har) the pellets out of his mouth. Ugh!

first day of school!

Today was the first day of school, and a mighty cheer rang through the land. We all five walked together over to school this morning to start Max off on his first day of kindergarten, and Liam on his first day of second grade. I went inside with the boys, and waited in the gym with Max (the kids line up by class) for his teacher to come and get the class, and then I walked with him to the door of his classroom. Along the way, we passed several kids who were crying and being consoled by their parents, and I was sure Max was pretty nervous about the whole thing. But then we got to the door, and he shot me one last look over his shoulder, and then he was gone. Another bird takes his first tentative step out of the nest.

When they got home this afternoon, both boys were full of stories about all the fun they'd had during the day, seeing old friends and making new ones, oh, and maybe learning something along the way. Liam tells me he has two new best friends for this year. Max said that recess was his favorite part of the day, but that it was over way too quickly. I'm sure the teachers are taking it easy this first short week, so there was only one homework assignment for Liam: find three things that can be used to tell the story of his summer. They had to be small enough to fit in a brown paper lunch sack, and only one of the items could be a photo. So he chose a photo of himself with Max at the water park, a pair of goggles to tell the story of how he took two sessions of swimming lessons, and a souvenir penny from the planetarium to tell the story of our end-of-summer overnight trip. Pasta was on the menu tonight, and all three boys ate bowls and bowls of it (my little Italians!), and then they all fell asleep without a protest. Success!

last fling

It was the last weekend of summer (as measured by the school calendar, of course), so what better way to celebrate than a short but sweet road trip? Sunday morning, we loaded up and headed for Chicagoland. Since it was a blustery day, we made our first stop the Adler Planetarium. We saw two different star shows, checked out about a million telescopes, examined the planets, and drove a couple of different rovers. There was even a tiny slide (with a facade of moon rocks, of course) that Henry spent a considerable amount of time on. We had lunch in the Galileo Cafe, and let the boys pick out a treat from the gift shop. Henry got a light-up bouncing ball, and Liam and Max unerringly latched on to the most annoying toys in the whole place: these plastic robot arms that let you pick things up (because, you know, using your hand is too much work!) and make this awful creaking sound. We were ready to take them away within 5 minutes, but what can you do?



At the end of our visit, we tried to get a family picture along the lake shore, but the wind was blowing a little too hard and the results aren't really fit to print. I did get a nice one of Mike and the boys, though.

After a brief but harrowing stop at the outlet mall, we arrived in Naperville Sunday afternoon. The boys were thrilled to spend the afternoon and evening with Grandma and Grandpa. [Max later told me it was his favorite part of the trip. When I asked him why, he said, "Because they gave us guns."] They unearthed a treasure trove of Mike's old toys, including, yes, a wooden gun that he got at Disney World (Disney Land? I don't know) as a kid. That night, we left the boys in the capable hands of their grandparents, and we headed out for dinner alone. Such luxury! And when we came back, they had all been bathed, Henry was asleep, and Liam and Max were in their pajamas watching Looney Tunes. Perfect.






Monday was a much nicer day, so we set off for the Morton Arboretum. And this is where we made our crucial mistake: We didn't get there right when they opened. We got there about 11 a.m., and the place was packed beyond belief. Seriously. It was hot, and crowded, and the kids were tired and not really in the mood to listen to us, so the whole thing turned into a little bit of an ordeal, but the arboretum itself was really cool, and the parts they did explore were so much fun. I think the part the boys liked the best was the "Secret Stream," where they could climb in and get their feet wet. That part wasn't quite as crowded, either, which was a big bonus. The last time we went to the arboretum was a cold fall day, and the boys were much younger (Henry wasn't even born yet). I can't wait until we get a chance to go again, hopefully when it's a little less on the crowded side!

mi casa es su ... wait, that can't be right

Henry invited himself over to hang out with his pal Charlie, who showed admirable restraint in the entire matter.

seen around

Last year, Mike planted the vegetables in the big flower bed off our deck, and put flowers out in the oasis. This year, he put the veggies in the oasis, and planted a riot of interesting wildflowers right off the deck. There are six-foot-tall sunflowers, poppies, black-eyed Susans, and all kinds of other flowers that I may not know the names of but definitely like the looks of. In the minus column, having these flowers so close to the house means having plenty of bees around every time we go out (so far, knock wood, none of us has actually been stung -- the bees are much more interested in the flowers). But in the plus column, we've got our own butterfly area going on. Check it out:



Max in particular likes to run up to the window to point things out to me. You can see some of the flowers behind him, but mostly I just added these pictures because Max is adorable.

can't win for trying

Tonight, Liam and Max went with me to run a couple of errands before we picked up Henry. I made some crack along the way about being their favorite person in the world (for turning their backseat movie on, I think), whereupon they informed me that I am not, in fact, their favorite person. That honor goes to their father. "I like Dad better than you," Liam solemnly informed me, "because he spends more time with us and does more things with us. You are always working."

And then my little peacemaker, Max, chimed in: "Maybe you can still be Henry's favorite person, though."

And you know what? It's true. This summer, I have been working a lot. Too much, really. And since Mike (who is a fantastic parent and totally deserving of the boys' adoration) is home during the day, and so are Liam and Max, they have been spending a lot of time together. They go to swimming lessons, shop for groceries, work in the garden, all sorts of things. And my time is, as it has been for some time, in the afternoon/evening. I'm the one who eats dinner with them, does evening activities with them, tells them their bedtime stories. But I guess it's no big surprise to me that it's not enough for them. They only know that Loni is the one taking them to the water park, not me -- they're not thinking that I'm putting in a few extra hours to pay for that trip.

I don't get hit with the working mom guilt as often as some of my friends do, I think. Still, it stings a bit. But then I remember that I also grew up with a working mom, and I may have complained about it (Sorry, Mom!) but it didn't take me long into adulthood (if it even took that long) to see the gift she was giving us by doing it. Not just the part where she provided for our family, though that shouldn't be underrated, but the part where she showed us, every single day, that women's work isn't only in the house. So I guess there's hope that my boys will see it that way one day too, and that I will get to share the co-favorite-person mantle with Mike.

give the people what they want

Friends, I know you don't come here because you're interested in my lefty socialist political views, or even to hear my views on parenting. You come here to see the boys, and here they are, in all their sandy glory. They took a little trip up to Michigan on Sunday to go to the beach with their grandma and grandpa. Unfortunately for them, they got rained out. But at least we got some good pictures out of the deal!

in which i bestow honorary circus forticus status to an amphibian

have we ever written here about an amphibian? i don't know. i doubt it, but i don't have this blog memorized.

this is a friend of mine. its name is door frog. i could have named it bob, or otto, or spalding, but those are the names of our computers. so i named it door frog.


door frog appears to be a smart amphibian, as it refuses to catch its buggy food like a normal frog (i.e. hunting insects in the grass or garden or pond or wherever frogs usually find their prey). instead, door frog uses its super froggy feet to climb up the deck storm door and position itself under the deck light. then, it simply waits for its food to come to the light, as bugs are wont to do. dinner is served.


door frog has been hanging out on the door every night since late spring, i think because it wants to welcome me home from work in addition to acquiring the sustenance it needs to survive. i appreciate its greeting, as well as its removal of annoying insects from my deck. therefore, i am bestowing honorary circus forticus status to door frog, an amphibian of the highest caliber. welcome home.

terrible

Henry is well into the terrible twos. Our formerly sunny boy has morphed into a disagreeable little person who hits and throws himself to the floor, kicking and screaming, when things don't go his way. On Sunday, we went out to breakfast with my parents, and Henry threw a screaming fit and lashed out at his favorite target: Max. I ended up taking him out to the car, leaving my half-eaten breakfast bowl behind, and waiting while my parents finished their breakfast with the big boys. Last night, we went to a friend's house to go swimming, and we had to leave because Henry threw an unbelievable fit when Max and Liam had the temerity to want to use their towels.

It's a trying time, but the thing is that it's also an important developmental stage. Henry is learning to make decisions for himself. He is developing ways to interact with people in a way that makes him happy without making other people miserable. He is forming the personality and interpersonal skills that he will need for the rest of his life.

And into this context comes this charming piece of work by CNN "columnist" LZ Granderson. To summarize: Kids who misbehave in public are the product of bad parenting. These "brats" will ruin your dinner, your flight, your trip to the grocery store, while their parents -- their mothers, actually, as fathers are not even mentioned once in the entire piece -- stand by, helpless to do anything because parents (mothers!) these days just don't discipline their kids.

Let me just take a little side trip here to tell you that writing things that are overtly offensive and judgmental is how LZ Granderson makes his living. If you are so inclined, you can witness his recent scholarly works "Parents, don't dress your girls like tramps" and "Don't let ignorant people vote." Granderson himself, of course, is the arbiter of what constitutes "trampy" and "ignorant." We'll just say I'm not a big fan of his work, and leave it at that.

Back to the article at hand. Granderson has really outdone himself as a provocateur this time. Postings to this article lit up my Facebook page, and my favorite blog (a feminist blog) burst into an argument so contentious that the posting had to be closed for comments. A surprising (to me) number of people seem to not only agree with what Granderson is saying here, but to cheer it. They believe that the cause of misbehavior by bratty kids in public spaces is something that is squarely placed at the feet of bad parents who need to stop sparing the rod and learn to discipline the little snots forcefully.

But here's the thing: Children are not tiny adults. They do not have the tools to deal with every environment that they might encounter in a way that is pleasing to every single adult around them. That is biology, not a reflection of bad parenting. And here's a news flash: Children throw fits. They do. I know you're surprised to hear this, but I'm here to testify. They do it for any number of reasons, from being overly tired to overwhelmed to simply not being able to express frustrations in any other way. I read a comment from one woman who had worked long and hard to be able to bring her autistic son into a store (he had a fear of public spaces, and they were working with a therapist) only to have a snotty cashier sneer, "What is wrong with that kid?" at her. So if that child screams or kicks in public, even though his mother was working with a professional to give him the coping mechanisms he needed to be part of the world, is that still "bad parenting"? If my kids misbehave in public, even though they know that the consequence will be removal from the event, does that make me a bad parent? I believe it does not. The fact is that I'm not a bad parent. I am simply a parent, with children who act like children. And as an adult who has witnessed plenty of other parents' children throw fits in public spaces, there is no way for me to know what the problem is. There is no possible way that I can sit in judgment of what I perceive to be those parents' lack of parenting skills, because I have no idea what their actual situation is.

And here's one other thing: Public spaces are, by nature, public. And children are current and future members of said public. I realize that when my children behave badly in a public space, it disturbs others, and I make every effort to mitigate these instances. Granderson (and the many fine commenters on various Internet forums) would suggest that the brats should just be kept at home until they learn how to behave properly. I would counter by asking: How are children supposed to learn to behave in a public space if they are not allowed to BE in a public space? My personal solution has been to expose my kids to restaurants, parks, grocery stores, and other public places as often as possible, so they get a sense of how to behave. I don't hesitate to leave if their behavior becomes unacceptable. But I will try again. And again, and again. And if my kid ruins your grocery shopping experience (really?), I will apologize. But I will not stop bringing them to the grocery store until they magically attain the skills they need to get along with all the judgmental people in the world -- because that would make me a bad parent.

liam at seven

Tuesday night, Liam went out to dinner (Red Lobster!) with my parents, followed by a special birthday shopping trip. On the way home, he was tired. Not just that, but he told my parents he was tired, and when my mom gave him a blanket and a pillow, he laid his head right down and rested. It doesn't seem like such a big deal, but it's one of those things that sneaks up on parents. We get so used to kids who go-go-go-go until they melt down and collapse in exhaustion, and then before we realize it, we've got a kid who is self-aware enough to know when he's tired and to do something about it before the meltdown stage.

Subtle milestones like that have marked this past year for our Liam. He is leveling out emotionally, understanding the reasons for things without having to experience negative consequences firsthand. He is so responsible, so in charge with his brothers, or at least he tries to be. Every morning, he helps Henry out of his crib and downstairs, where they quietly play together because, as Liam says, he knows that Mike and I are tired and he wants us to rest. Max, of course, chafes at the idea of Liam having any authority, but Henry revels in it. He wants to do everything Liam does, follow Liam everywhere, and Liam is patient enough to not just let him, but to teach him — most of the time.

The world is wide open for Liam right now, and he's doing everything he can to find his place in it. He reads voraciously, gets obsessed with video games, runs with joy. And lately, he's been getting more and more into art. On their shopping trip, my parents took Liam to the art supply store and got him his very own set of colored pencils, markers, paints, charcoal pencils, and oil pastels — that last one was what Liam specifically asked for from them for his birthday, so he can make a cityscape that's been in his imagination — along with a sketch pad and other supplies, all in a very grown-up case. He's been using them all day, and it's so fun to watch how happy he is when he's creating something, and how serious he is about taking care of his tools.

So today, we're celebrating Liam. The kid who doesn't like frosting because it makes him "feel funny" will have a grape Jello cake topped with cool whip. He'll go to swimming lessons. He'll play with his brothers, and enjoy the freedom of being a kid on summer break. And maybe the best part of all, he'll listen to me and his dad joke around — and he'll get the jokes! Welcome to 7, Liam! It's going to be a great year.

dippity do

We are venturing into the arena of "friend" birthday parties, and I have to say that Liam's first one was a great success. We rented out our town pool for two hours on Saturday morning, and the kids had an absolute blast. Liam must have gone down the slide into the deep end 50 gajillion times, while Max and Henry enjoyed more sedate pursuits in the shallow end and kiddie pool. At one point, all of the big kids joined the little ones in the kiddie pool, which was kind of strange with the big pool just sitting there. Anyway, it was just about perfect, except for a debacle with an overly frozen ice cream cake (I couldn't cut it!) and Mike taking a knee to the eye from Liam while they were playing in the water. Liam got a party that thrilled him, and Mike and I got the pleasure of just throwing out our trash on the way out and heading home to a non-party-ravaged house. I really think we're on to something here! Now we just have to figure out what kind of away-from-the-house activity we can do for Max's birthday in February. I sense a sledding party coming on...

a day in the life

Today started out well ... at least for me. I've been up late yet again working on a tight deadline (which could be a whole other post!) all week, and I was so happy when Mike agreed to get up with the boys this morning so I could grab an extra hour or two of sleep. And then I woke up. Two of the boys had managed to spill milk all over the kitchen, everyone was angry, and Henry was rank. Not much new there. Eventually, Mike took Henry to school, and I got showered and dressed for my later than usual work shift for today. Two minutes before I was supposed to log in to work (sheesh!) the crew digging up our road to put in new water mains accidentally hit a gas line. Fire trucks and police cars screeched to a halt directly outside my office window, and the mailman had to drive through the yard (they really take that pledge seriously!) to make his deliveries. After tense consultation, the town officials decided that our neighborhood had to be evacuated until repairs could be made.

So off we trooped with the boys to the grocery store, which has a small cafe with a big sign boasting free Wi-Fi. Work was busy, and I was trying to work on an unfamiliar laptop, and it turns out that you get what you pay for with free Wi-Fi at the grocery store: that is to say, nothing. I finally managed to go online (have I mentioned that my work is all done live on the Internet?) via the free Wi-Fi of a nearby car dealership, which apparently was set to discourage freeloaders by kicking everyone off (and logging me out of work) every 10 minutes. It was a fun time, sitting at the table with two loud and excited boys, the TV blaring behind me and the piped-in grocery store tunes blaring in front of me. After they had some lunch, Mike took the boys to the park, leaving me to wrestle with a busy work day in an unfamiliar spot with an unreliable connection.

So I posted about it on Facebook, that wonder of wonders, and a reply came from my aunt Janis: Hey, you could come to the senior center! We have Wi-Fi. And sofas!

Sold! Between jobs, I rushed out to the car and made my way over to the senior center, where the Internet was strong and the people who were there didn't mind sharing some of their space with me. I was there for about an hour and a half before I had the all clear to come home, and I have to say that it's kind of weird but the most calm and least stressful part of my day was spent there. Seriously, it was so nice and quiet, I might just start going there once a week to hang out and work!

Back at home, Mike was trying (unsuccessfully) to nap while Liam and Max were whooping it up all over the house, and Charlie was barking and jumping on everyone. Mike ended up having to take the night off work because we had no way of knowing if and when we would be allowed back into the house. And that has turned out to be a good thing, because it's now 6:00 p.m., and I'm an hour away from being halfway done with my work for the day. It's going to be another long night here at CFHQ, but I can't wait to see what new excitement tomorrow brings!

so big, so fast

Today is Max's last day of preschool/daycare. He is spending it taking a field trip to Potawatomi Zoo in South Bend and going out on a high note. I'm not sure he realizes yet that not being at school anymore will mean not seeing many of his friends that often, or his teachers. Right now, he's just looking forward to a summer at home before he heads off to kindergarten.

Listen, I'm not a mom who looks back at the baby days with longing and sadness for those firsts that we'll never experience again. But still, I have to tell you that I have enjoyed every bit of Max's life up to this point. He was an adorable baby and toddler, lower lip leading him every step of the way. He was a precious little boy, forever trying to catch up to his big brother and make his own way at the same time. And now he's a smart and caring and thinking person who will need me less and less along the way. To me, that means I'm doing something right in this mysterious parenting gig.

This age that he's at right now, and these steps he's about to take -- it's monumental for him. He's been at the same daycare since we moved here when he was a baby, and he is secure and happy there, and now he will learn to be secure and happy in a new place. And if I get a little misty in a couple of months when he straps on his backpack and walks through the school doors, it won't be with nostalgia for what came before, but with pride for how far he has come, and for the way he can bravely square up and take the next step into his own bright future.