Sorry

I hate it when we fight. I hate when I become so frustrated with your actions (or inaction) that I develop what is far beyond an acceptable level of "inside voice." I hate the way we both get red in the face when we are angry with each other. I hate that you were mad at me when I dropped you off at school, hate that you felt the need to brush aside my goodbye hug with a shrug and a frown, hate that I walked away from you knowing you were scowling at my retreating form. Hate that I didn't turn around once more to look at you before I left.

You can be so proud, so determined, so STUBBORN. You have always been that way. Even as a little tyke, when you'd get in trouble, you always got angry at me getting angry at you. It's so true that each child needs to be dealt with in different ways, depending on temperament. Your sister is one to get so very sad and remorseful when she's in trouble, but not you — you simmer with anger and injustice, letting it brew inside you like a pressure cooker, and the only way I know how to deal with that is to walk away, to let you come back down to earth on your own. Because you always do. Once the heat of the moment passes and you've been left on your own to think and contemplate and consider, you emerge, fresh-faced and placid and apologetic, willing to listen and talk and discuss.

You have no idea how fiercely I love you, how much I WANT for you, how strongly I would fight to protect you. The older you become, the greater my fears grow about all the things I can't shield you from, all those outside influences that will only grow in number and magnitude as the years go on, as you come under the influence of other kids, other sources. I can only hope and pray that I have taught you, when the time comes, to make good choices, to do what is right and true.

So I am sorry our morning got off to such a bad start. Mommys aren't perfect — I am far from it, I know. But I am doing the best that I can... and I will always strive to do better by you. I love you, sweet baby boy. I hope as I write this that the moment is already past for you, forgotten, that it hasn't ruined your day. And I hope when I see you later on that you'll give me one of those great hugs like only you give.

Harry, Revisited

So followers of my old blog (before its untimely death from file corruption last year) may remember that when Owen was a kindergartener he and I spent several long months reading through all the Harry Potter novels. He has since become an avid reader with a vivid imagination, a fact that pleases me no end.

Well, now that Edie is in kindergarten, I decided to do the same thing with her— so most every evening we plop down on my king-sized bed, the three of us — Owen, Edie and I — to read a chapter and discuss what has been happening so far. You'd think Owen wouldn't want to sit through them again, but he's having as good a time listening to them again as I am having reading them, and it's interesting to see him listening and absorbing the information in a new way — being two whole years older than his first go-round.

And miss Edie, well... she seems to be enjoying them quite as much as Owen did, though I am very careful to review the previous night's chapter before beginning the next, asking her questions to make sure she's been paying attention.

The best part about it, though, is that Edie — who has always been fantastic at "imaginative play" when playing on her own — has begun to introduce new characters in her play. The other day I heard her speaking with quite a good version of a British accent (since, when I read the books, I try to read all the dialogue in character, accents, voices and all), saying things like, "Oh, hello, Neville. We were just talking about Transfiguration." I'm supremely happy that she's quite enjoying the books, too.

And, like before, the deal I made with her was that she could watch the movies after having read the books. She's seen bits and pieces of most of the movies before, on DVD, when Owen has been watching them, but has never had such a keen interest in the as she does now. We plan to watch the second movie this weekend. And the best part is that Terry — who has never read the books (blasphemy!) and only seen the first movie (heresy!) — has agreed to watch the movies with us as we go along, so that by the time the final installment is released in theaters this summer, he can be caught up and actually see it with us.

I know that I am blessed to have such smart kids — and when I get excellent feedback from both their teachers about how well-spoken and well-read they both are for their ages, I can't help but feel a huge burst of pride that I have had something to do with that.

Welcome to Casa 158

(Click the picture above to watch the slideshow. You can even hit the little corner button with the four arrows to make it fit your computer screen.)

So I decided back in November that I wanted to make a playhouse out of felt with a pvc pipe frame for the kids for Christmas. I started with a mountain of felt, worked diligently on it any chance I had when the kids weren't around (namely when they were at school or in the evenings after they were in bed), and voila! The result is Casa 158. (the numbers are the ages of my three kids.)

I'll be honest and admit that a lot of the adorable ideas here were culled from other places on the internet. The idea for the corn and the tree with the apples and the entire garden on the back wall came from here. (In fact, this was where my initial inspiration came from.) But I decided to make mine to fit a PVC pipe frame (instead of a kitchen table, as hers was), so mine has a pitched roof. Also, I decided to finish off the interior of mine as well, like the one here, so we have a fireplace with vases where a little homemaker can put some flowers culled from the front window box. Also. the frame above the fireplace is open on one side, so the photo can be replaced with another or kids' artwork or whatever floats their boat.

I made each piece separate (sides and roof) and they tie onto the PVC Pipe — however, after seeing the kids play in it for a while, I MAY go ahead and stitch the roof to the sides. I had thought it would be easier to assemble/disassemble this way, but now I'm not totally convinced, since it comes untied and skews off slightly. So I may be doing some modifications to it in the near future, but overall I am very pleased with the result. And I even had enough time to decorate the house for Christmas, with little felt Christmas light bulbs in a strand around the eaves, and a wreath for the front door.

This was definitely a labor of love, but the kids loved it so much when they woke up Christmas morning and discovered this delightful playhouse in the living room. In fact, Edie spent the entire day inside it, pulling in her blankie and a pillow and relaxing in there with her Nintendo DS and some snacks. She even watched a movie on TV from inside its walls, watching through the window!

On Birth Order

I made a comment the other day to someone that, as far as I can tell, my kids pretty accurately embody those traits that define so-called "birth order." It's interesting for me to watch them (trying to do so as objectively as I can, of course) and really see that their unique characteristics that make up who they are as individuals really do seem to typify what are commonly seen as birth order personality traits.

Owen, as a first-born (and a male firstborn at that) is a typical, nurturing people pleaser who craves approval from those around him. I see this really clearly in the way he is at school, which is conscientious and careful to do the right thing, always trying to please his teacher. He is also very sweet (well... MOST of the time) to his two younger sisters, which I can only imagine will make him a really great husband to some lucky girl some day.

As a middle child, Edie is the attention-getting personality in the bunch, always singing and dancing, expressing her creativity in as many outlets as she can find. She used to say she wanted to grow up and be an artist, like her Uncle Tom, but now she says she wants to be a singer... like Taylor Swift. (Hey, she could have WAY worse influences than that, right?) She is friendly and outgoing, and LOVES to strike a pose whenever the camera is pointed her way.

And Isla is my little good-time charlie. Of course, she isn't even 1 yet, so it's difficult to really know what her personality will be as she grows older, but she is quick to laugh and is remarkably laid-back and easy-going. I have long said that these third children really have to learn how to go with the flow, since we're always off on the run doing something or other with the two older kids, and the young ones get dragged along... and this one almost always does everything with a huge grin on her face. Who knows? She'll probably be class clown, cutting it up for anyone who will listen and give her a laugh.

And while I realize that the study of birth orders is by no means an exact science, I do find it interesting that my kids seem to really embody a lot of those characteristics. Things to think about...

Weekend Getaway

We spent the weekend down in Carlsbad, since Honey has her timeshare down there this week, which is my excuse for not posting yesterday... today was the Carlsbad street fair, which is always fun, and otherwise it was a whole lot of lounging around, reading, playing the stupidly addicting Angry Birds game, and not a whole lot else.

One thing that really hit me over the last two days is how grown up the kids — and most especially Owen — are becoming. This particular condo has a pool and recreation room that are pretty enclosed (needing a key to enter), and this was the first time we've let the kids go down to the rec room all by themselves. They wanted to pick out a movie to watch from the selection they keep on hand, so I agreed that they could go but that they must go together. I generally tried to impress upon Owen that, as the big brother, he really needed to take care of his little sister.

Well, they had a blast, and were delighted with themselves when they selected a movie and signed out for it at the desk all on their own. Many trips were made to the rec room for no other reason than simply that they were ALLOWED to do this by themselves, which of course made them feel very self-important and grown-up. At one point, the phone rang in our room, and it was Owen, calling to inform me that Edie was on her way up to the room and he wanted to make sure she'd made it back safely.

I'm not really sure why this in particular struck such a chord... perhaps I was remembering moments just like this from my own childhood — I can distinctly recall the feeling of freedom when our parents would let Tom and me go to a rec room or even down the hall to get ice if we were staying in a hotel, and how great that felt, as a little kid.

Simple pleasures, I suppose. In any case... the time changed, and with it, our days suddenly became shorter. Now if only the weather would begin to cooperate, it might actually begin to feel like fall.

Eight

Cool Kids, originally uploaded by JenSig.

Dear Owen,

Today is your eighth birthday... and what a ride it's been. I was recently looking through some old pictures of you as a baby and toddler, for a project I'm working on, and every single one made me smile at your darling little chubby cheeks, your delightful smile, your impish grin.

You were a happy baby and have grown into a happy, thoughtful boy. A boy capable of a little mischief, yes, but a boy who, on the whole, is sensitive and creative and thoughtful and loving and kind and sweet. I'm not saying you don't have your moments — we ALL do — but you... there is some special little spark in you that touches a very central part of me in a very unique way. We are kindred spirits, you and I, and I think you recognize it, too.

We celebrated your birthday with your three best buddies from up the street, and we caught a movie, ate some pizza, and had a round of mini-golf, followed by a late-night DVD while curled up in sleeping bags around the living room floor. Surprisingly, all four of you made it — barely — to the end of the movie, just around midnight, when I turned out the light and the TV and whispered goodnight to you all.

It wasn't much later — perhaps a half hour or so — that you came quietly into my room to tell me that you couldn't sleep. You've had this happen before, where you couldn't fall asleep right away and then you get yourself all worked up over the idea that you might not be ABLE to go to sleep, like EVER, that you get upset. So I walked you into the living room and tucked you back into your sleeping bag next to your three snoozing buddies. Then I laid down next to you and curled around you for a bit, stroking your hair the way I used to do to you when you were small.

And that triggered memories of the way I used to have to do that to you nearly every night, lay there with you until you were all the way asleep, because otherwise you'd cry or come crawling out of bed looking for me. So last night I laid there perhaps longer than I normally would have, remembering those early days with you and thinking about how, each time you have a birthday, I get a little sad at how grown up you have become.

You were the one who made me a mother, my first-born, my angel baby. And you hold a very special place in my heart, reserved just for you.

I love you, little man. Happy 8th birthday.

Love, Mama

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

So today I overheard Owen telling something this: "So you know, (Insert name of teacher here) isn't coming back to our school next year."

"Why is that, Owen?"

"Because, um... Barack Obama? He's getting rid of all the republicans."

Blink. Blink. I decided to interject: "Uh, well.... that's not exactly true. The state of California doesn't have any money, which unfortunately means that some really great teachers don't have jobs this fall."

"Yeah, that's what I meant."