Things I don't want to forget, and that my children won't be able to remember.

A friend of mine keeps this amazing blog about her life, which, like mine, is dominated by her kids these days. (Well, mine is dominated by my kids.  Hers are very little work for me at all, actually.) She writes letters to her babes (almost) every month.  And one of them is almost three years old!  Amazing.  She has super powers, I tell you.  Her kids will have the gift of their mother's reflections on their life every step of the way.  Mine will be able to read stories about how I wish I were a real lawyer, but am glad I'm not a real lawyer, and how I'm tired and I hate dog puke.  Life's a lotto, kiddos.  No promise of justice, and odds are you won't strike it big.

All right! With that uplifting message of mediocrity, I am going to copy my friend a bit as I am in the mood to tell you kidlets all about the things you are and do right now.  Because time is just flying.  And times are so crazy right now, they need to fly.  Your dad and I aren't whatever-one-must-be enough to be parents of tinies indefinitely.  But, these great efforts are rewarded by what I already know will be among the most meaningful moments of my life.  I ain't no Buddha-mama. I don't claim to always be in the moment, nor to always let the tough moments pass through me without judgment or strife. But would you believe I am trying?  I really am trying. (And trying not to try, of course, because that's what it takes. So confusingly simple.) In the spirit of gratitude, here's to my little loves, as they are at this moment, as they will never be again.

 
Edie. My first born.  My little girl.  You are a firecracker.  You love big and fight hard.  You care deeply about others, and love to please, but you do not fall in line easily. In spite of yourself, I think.  Your vocabulary is dazzling, and where you find it lacking, you just invent words.  Hand sanitizer is hanitizer, the tongue of your sneakers has been dubbed the "shoe pit," and when you run out of things to say, you spew nonsense and then insist that it's Spanish.  Back when you had just turned two, you named your feet Tex and Poppy.  And that has stuck.  But the naming continues.  We must keep track not only of what all your dolls and stuffed animals are named, but recognize that after several months, their names may change.  The big white bear was Mary Mary for almost a year.  Now she is Havana.  I don't know why.  But I try to get it right.  You have been telling us for ages that you are concerned about putting your hand in the ocean because "a seal can bite it off."  I really don't know where this fear of seals comes from.  Frankly, we try to sweep this one under the rug.  You are a master of accents.  When you were about 20 months old, you came out of YMCA daycare, where you spent about 45 minutes once or twice a week so your mom could get a little time alone, telling me one day that Oma (a daycare lady with a discernible Southern accent) called you "Eh-Day" but that I called you "Eee-Dee."  This morning, you called me out on my Midwest accent when I said "potty."  You squinted at me and said "It's POtty, mom. You said 'PAHtty.'" Yeesh.  I'll work on opening up my vowels for you.  Tough crowd.  You have been working hard since about 18 months of age in learning everyone's names - including dads and pets.  Your memory floors me.  When we are in the car, you routinely tell me or quiz me on the names of all your friends and the names of the friends' parents.  You are also very interested in how everyone is related, and you've got it down pretty well.  The other day you talked to your Grandma Sally on the phone.  And when your dad came home you said "I talked to your mom, dad."  You've even mastered the fact that both of your grandpas are named Tim.  That was poor planning on our part, by the way, sorry about that.  You've been in school for a little over a month now.  You love it.  It still makes me sad some days but it's where you need to be.  I'll admit, though not happily, that I feel a bit of distance between us right now where school and your little brother came in.  But before school, where there is now distance, there was so much strife and struggle between us.  You are growing up and needed more than I could offer.  So though I miss you, I know these are growing pains.  Yours and mine.

You first note home from a teacher.  At two and a half.  

And you actually like this teacher a lot.  

Lord help the ones you do not like, and there will be some, 

daughter of mine. I am in for it, aren't I?

 
Because of school, you have a host of new traditions.  Before we eat, you now ask (ahem...demand) that we put our hands in our laps, and then we all must say four times, "We are thankful."  It is absolutely lovely and has given us a small moment in time to take a deep breath and smile at each other during the most chaotic part of our day.  Another dinner time favorite is "jokes."  We all make up jokes these days, at your request (ahem...dire insistence).  These jokes all involve the dogs doing silly things together.  And the punchline always involves a bodily function.  It gets big laughs.  You pick out your own clothes, and this can be challenging, but I do my absolute best to not interfere.  I do draw the line when you climb up into your closet and ransack summer clothes that I packed away in a box, and attempt to wear a tank top on a 50 degree day. You think that time is cyclical, and tell us about when you will be a baby, and that one day when you are a mama we will be kids and you'll take us to the zoo.  Your dad and I go to sleep most nights laughing about and marveling over the things you say and do, Edes.  You make our heart so full.

Eli.  My sweet little boy.  Oh how I cannot get enough of you.  I don't know you that well yet, because you are only three months old and still have worlds to show us about who you are.  What an honor it is to witness.  You are just the snuggliest baby ever.  You love to sit cradled in my lap, stare right into my eyes, and talk and talk and talk.  You have chattered at us since you were only four or five weeks old, and you truly respond to us! It's amazing. You adore your sister (and she you).  She is like a celebrity already in your eyes.  You have the most incredible laugh.  All I want to do is hear it.  I would not want a record of all the dumb things I do to try and make you smile.  Lately, I have to be careful about looking at you too much when you are nursing, because when you are in the right mood, just seeing me cracks you up so much that you pop off and milk goes everywhere.  And then it is so hilarious that I keep doing it anyways.  And it's a mess. As your conversation habits imply, you already want to be part of the action.  If we try to put you in your bouncie seat while we eat dinner, you shout at us until your dad picks you up, plops you in his lap, and eats with one hand.  You are pleased as anything after that.  You love your baths - as long as I don't wait until you are too tired!  And it's a rather small window, love, so I don't always get it right.  You kick and splash the water, and stick your tongue out as you arch your neck to get your head further in the water. As sweet as you are, you can certainly dish it out when you are unhappy.  And good on you for that, sonny boy!  That's how your sister has trained us.  You deserve your shot to be heard as well.  Your current move is swiveling on your stomach like a break dancer on your crib.  You tend to get your little head pressed up against the bars.  If you'd give me a little warning about what you were up to, I could prevent this more often than not.  But you prefer to work covertly until you are in a real jam.  You are so close to grabbing your feet and to grasping toys.  Which reminds me that I have a mess of toy sanitizing to do before you begin the everything in your mouth phase... When I am holding you, I feel so warm and complete.  I used to doze off when holding or nursing you all the time during your first few weeks.  And that's not like me at all.  I never fall asleep without concerted effort.  But you were like this soft, warm little slumber magnet.  My thoughts would quiet and my body would relax, and there we'd be, dozing together.  That you are already three months old - quickly going on four - blows me away.  Thank you for choosing us, Eli.  I can't even say that I look forward to all the good times in the future, because honestly I can't wish away these moments for anything.