Bobby's 4th

Bobby,

You are four plus four days old. Four! I kind of remember when I was four, and I remember it being a very good year. Mrs. Stephens, ballet with Ms. Chitman, Geoff Gordan giving me a necklace, being a Candy Cane on a Christmas Tree. Landmark.

I'm excited for your fourth year, knowing that you already seem a little more mature than your age. You talk like an adult at times. The typical seems tame so you find ways to make activities more challenging. The big kids don't intimate you, instead I feel like you envision yourself in their shoes already.

But on the other hand, so much of you is exactly four years old.


While your little power position bum is getting a little cramped, you are a perfect size 4T.

You had four cavities - and you bravely sat through four drillings and fillings with only local anesthesia.

Occasionally, you still take four hour naps.

There are only about 4 foods that you like to eat. Most end in 'tos.'

You likely have four hundred cars and trucks in your collection at this point.

It takes about four stories, four songs, four hugs and kisses, and then four minutes pinning you to your bed, to get you to fall asleep at night.

Instead of choosing three things for your 'me box' at school, you chose four: your baby owl, a picture of your family, a remote control car, and your precious blue blanket.

You fight with Mary at least four times a day, but also give her about four bear hugs to balance it out. Margaret just gets the hugs.

Your feet are about four inches by four inches. Basically they are little paws.

It takes you four seconds to suit up like Superman and then fly around, saving our house from make believe peril.

You love biking up and down our 4 degree angle hill on your balance bike. You've mastered it, so Mommy and Daddy got you a big boy bike for your birthday.

And there are four people in this family that love you dearly. And we hope that all four of your birthday wishes come true in the year ahead.

    

Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you, Bobby. 

Mommy / Lo. 

We're Going to Need a Bigger Backpack

Last week, as I was walking (or rather running) Mary and Bobby into school, I was haphazardly trying to put each of their little back packs on as they scurried toward the door. About halfway there, I noticed a little boy right on my heels. I turned around and he was staring up at me.

'Hey buddy,' I said.

'Mrs. M. says Mary needs a bigger backpack.'

'I know, I know ... It's coming!' I barked at the 5-year old.

What the heck? 

Let me back up. A couple months ago, our nanny relayed to me that Mary's teacher had requested a bigger back pack for her. Her papers didn't fit, her folder was getting mauled, and the necessary winter ware - hats, gloves, and boots, alongside her Bento lunch box, were adding to the dilemma. That night, Mary reenacted her teacher words, 'You need a bigger backpack!'

Naturally, or at least according to my nature, I procrastinated and apparently made the whole classroom anxious. Mary told me her teacher kept asking, so I finally ordered one.

That Tuesday, when the little boy reproached me, Pottery Barn was exactly 2.5 days late with the shipment. And Mary was exactly 2.5 times more desperate with every passing hour. At night, she would pray and hope that the doorbell would ring with her new backpack, size large, bells, whistles and mermaids swimming all over it. It finally arrived and Mary was ecstatic. She showed me where she was going to put her snack, her lunchbox, her pencil, and her new folder, promised to her by her teacher.

I was partially enthused and partially rolling my eyes thinking how ridiculous this all was. It wasn't so much the actual backpack. I totally got it - her folder looked like our non-existent dog had taken a bite out of it after all. Instead it was the notion of a 'bigger backpack.'

What do I mean?

I was talking to a co-worker this week and he was telling me about his two boys - ages 3 and 4. They were three sport athletes. What? Seriously? Oh yeah. They also do hip hop.

I overheard a mom at dance class the other night rationalizing why so and so couldn't do ballet too. Well she's already in gymnastics, swimming, and jazz - it didn't fit into her schedule. So and so couldn't keep a beat. I sat there wondering why the investment?

There isn't just one girl scout troop you can participate in around here, there are two. And most people sign up for both. 

Just as soon as you think your son or daughter has got it down, there's a mom next to you telling you her kid did it a year earlier. Oh and you have tried this too? No, no I haven't. Ugh.

No wonder everyone needs a massive backpack - there is way too much stuff to cram into it - and at such an early age.

I am nervously trying to navigate this strange, new world where three sport athletes are groomed at the age of three. I find myself frantically surfing the park district website, worried that I haven't signed Bobby up for anything yet. (And he's going to be four tomorrow!) Along with every sport imaginable, you can also sign your kid up for culinary arts, chemistry, sewing, cartoon drawing, chess, model ship building, or even a date with a unicorn. It's honestly really awesome, but at the same time the choices and potential costs paralyze me. So Bobby remains a no sport athlete. 

As a collegiate lacrosse player, that started playing her sport in high school, this all baffles me. And to date, I've kept to my own theory - which is avoid the schlepping and teach them myself.

Culinary Arts (ages 3-6) 
Take turns standing on a stool to help Mommy cook the dinner that you won't eat.

Early Engineering (ages 1-6) 
Build LEGO creations with Daddy. Margaret monster will then ruin all your hard work, Mommy will yell at you to pick up all the little pieces, and then everyone will end up crying.

Pee Wee Soccer (ages 3-6) 
An over competitive Mommy will school you in the backyard. Bobby will get frustrated, pick up the ball and throw it over the next door neighbor's fence.

Mr. or Mrs. Fix It Junior (age 3)  
Learn the name of every screwdriver and wrench as well as what a plunger can do. Then learn how to use the aforementioned plunger as you unclog the toilet that you stuffed up with toilet paper.

Intro to Skiing (ages 3 and up) 
Bundle up! A certified Hidden Valley ski instructor circa 1998 will have you making french fries and pizzas in no time. Don't want to go up the chair lift? Mommy will make you anyway.

Chores and More (ages 1-6)
Learn how to fold clothes, do dishes, make beds and achieve streak free windows only to be re-streaked seconds later with Margaret's dirty hands. 

Family Interpretive Dance (all ages) 
Enjoy a freestyle family dance party each and every night. Mommy throwing out her back, guaranteed. 

So it's unorganized and shoddy ... it's schlep free though. But since Mary has plenty of room in her backpack now, I'm feeling the pressure to fill it up a little more. And I'm assuming Bobby will be next.

Lo.

Wow!

As you grow up, Christmas kind of grows up with you.

Even between the ages of our kids, from one to five years old, there are different interpretations of what the season and culminating special day means.

For Margaret it was largely about putting on fancy dresses and shoes this year. She wanted to decorate herself with the ribbons from packages, play with the box instead of what was inside, and eat a lot of cookies.


Bobby just really wanted to open his presents. And as the door bell rang with yet another package day after day, it got more difficult for him to contain his excitement.

On perhaps the fifth day of Advent, Bobby opened just about all of his Advent Calendar windows hoping that Christmas Day would come a little sooner. So I was pleased when I learned that he was learning the virtue of patience at school. He brought home an image of St. Monica, patron saint of patience, colored in every shade of the rainbow, a little closer to 'in the lines' than his last work of art. After work, I would reinforce what he had learned - that it's about patiently waiting, being a good boy, and don't you dare open that present!

At three, I can imagine how hard it would be to neglect presents with your name, tins filled with freshly baked cookies, bowls filled with chocolates, and events on the calendar that all came with instructions to wait ... just a little bit longer.

When Christmas morning finally came, Bobby was in absolute heaven. Trains, trucks, cars, and planes zoomed around the house with pure joy emanating from our little boy who had practiced patience so well.



Mary, at five, started cataloging and cementing our family's traditions.

Unlike Bobby, she opened one window of her Advent Calendar at a time and even offered him her chocolate each morning because, 'aw, you don't have one again.' (I should have said, don't feel sorry for him Mary, he ate fifteen chocolates one morning when we were all sleeping. But I liked her spirit of empathy and generosity.)

She loved all the events we had planned leading up to Christmas. Decorating our house and tree, remembering where ornaments originated and where they should be placed. Seeing Santa, and this year, writing her own letter. Dancing in her Winter recital, baking Christmas cookies (and eating them), going downtown to the Nutcracker, and having Tea with our good friend Charles on Christmas Eve and getting a big iced cookie from him, because that's a tradition mom.

She excelled at being a good little girl and she would frequently check her behavior rating with me. 'Did I get an A+ today, mama?' She helped me with chores, set the table on Christmas Eve, cleaned, wrapped presents, and excelled at being one step ahead of me. I told her she got an A++.

And true to his word, Santa delivered to our very good girl on Christmas Day.



At 36, as the magic maker, Christmas isn't effortless. With the time off from work, I booked doctor and dentist appointments for me and the kids, preparing not only for a happy new year, but a healthy one.

Ear infections - healed.
Measles and mumps - vaccinated.
Skin cancer - negative.
One kid - cavity free
Other kid - in the process of becoming cavity free.
Mommy - I hate my dentist so I postponed the appointment.
Back issue - medicated.

I also volunteered for Bobby's classroom Christmas party, hosted a play date, did mountains of latent laundry, organized closets overflowing with crap, shopped and wrapped. Cooked and baked. Rushed and reeled. Trimmed and tucked in. Stayed up too late and woke up too early.

On the 26th, Peter asked me if I had a good Christmas. I said yes, of course. But I really didn't have the right words - the expectations of elaborate, remarkable, momentous. I still don't. Instead, I have been thinking about the vocabulary that Margaret has developed over the past two weeks - words that I think Christmas  brought out of her.

Mama and Dada. Bubba and Mar Mar.

Up.

More.

Kiss and hug.

Peeeeease. Peeeeease. Peeeeease.

Cheeeeeeese.

Shhhhhhhhhhhh.

Cookie.

Tanks.

Woo, woo, woo, ha, ha, ha (dog sounds)

Wow.

Whoa.

Wow!

Whoa! 
WOW!

WHOA!

She says Wow! so well now. And it's just the right word for a Christmas that was super wow.

Lo.
 

Routine

After Mary and her kindergarten class graced us with the cutest little Thanksgiving concert ...

After we raked leaves ...

After we played in winter's early arrival ...

After we flew to Pittsburgh and rode up the Incline ...

After we played with cousins and shopped with Nana ...

After we carved the Turkey and mashed the potatoes with Opa

After I finished the 1,000 piece Civil War puzzle and we saw two train exhibits ... 

After we flew back to Chicago and then waited an hour and forty five minutes for an Uber to take us home from O'Hare.
Bobby got pink eye.
Then Mary got pink eye.
Then Bobby got a double ear infection.
Then Mary got the single version.
Then Mommy threw up all night long.
Then Mary threw up all night long.
Then Bobby, Daddy and Margaret came along for the ride.
Then Bobby's ear infection didn't heal and he had to go on a different medication portioned in a tonic bottle straight out of a turn of the century pharmacy. Oh and he might get an allergic reaction, so here's some Benadryl. 
Then Margaret got an ear infection. And with it, the runs.
Then I flew to Seattle, loopy and malnourished from not eating in several days, and left Peter and Eva with three kids and a window sill lined with meds and syringes. 

This week, we faced more sickness than health. And I kept thinking to myself, will we make it through?

In times like these I worry a little. I wonder if our household was built strong enough. I question whether I'm a good enough mom. I pray that Peter can handle it all. And I anxiously look forward to when things will just go back to normal - to the routine - to the days I can manage and control.

On my long plane rides to and from Seattle, I thought a lot about our routine. The known, the anticipated, the schedule I've tried to create. And then in actuality, how non-routine our life has become.

Every day seems to bring a new challenge. A missed train and a changed plan. A late meeting and a new logistic. Mama's gone, Daddy's in charge. The nanny's sick, so are the reserves, it's a snow day, trains are down, Mama's working from home, or trying to, Bobby just eat your lunch, take your medicine, you too, no you can't have another chocolate, no Santa is not coming tonight, no you can't watch a show, yes you have to take your nap, everyone please stop fighting, oops I was not on mute. Muting.

There is a lot of literature on the importance of routine for children and families. How kids excel with it. And parents often go to extremes to maintain the integrity and security of their hard wired schedules. Personally, I tend to blame myself for not mastering and maintaining a regimen in our household as well as others. If only it were tighter ... would they eat better, act better, do things without me asking again and again and again?

At the same time, my company has placed significant value on resiliency. At the end of this tumultuous year, we will be evaluated in large part by our adaptability. Employees who were able to navigate the 'change' while remaining highly productive will fair well, the others will flounder. 

So with all the routine everyone preaches, how is anyone supposed to learn resiliency? At school? Not likely. At least, it was never part of my curriculum. But back in the day, I did learn it home.

As much as they could, my parents created a routine for us. However, like Peter and I, they managed a two income household with its share of pivots and changed plans. I had all different kinds of babysitters and care givers growing up - many unique personalities and management styles that I had to win over. I was the first one at school and the last one picked up on multiple occasions - I became adept at calling 1-800 Collect and twiddling my thumbs. When my dad wasn't home, my mom would make something - so I learned to cook at a pretty young age. We all chipped in. We acted like a team - everyone covering for someone when we were a man down. There were evenings when I could tell that a secretary's absence, another on-call night, another week in West Virginia, or a loss of a child at the hospital got the better of our household. I would sit on the steps listening and worrying about the dialogue. But I went to bed knowing there was a strong enough foundation - that love would always mend the emotions in the kitchen.

Which takes me to the most important part of the routine. The must haves in any given day that make a changed plan more manageable. Instead of asking myself did everyone check the boxes? I think the most important things to ask are ... 

Did we give out enough hugs?
Did we say we were sorry, when we needed to be?
Did we do our best at school or at work?
Did we reach out to someone who needed a hand?
Did we say a pray or two or ten?
Did we tell Eva, thank you (a million times over!)? 
Did we tell our kids just how special they are?
And did I tell Peter, how much I love him?

And with that, I will keep telling myself that the combination of routine and resiliency will give our kids a leg up in the end.

After a long week, we woke up on Saturday morning and bought our Christmas tree. We decorated it, hung our wreath, strung our lights, and put the finishing touches over our fireplace. It's officially the Christmas season, but I have one more thank you to share.

Thank you, Mom and Dad. Not only for all the love and support. But for showing me how to keep a household together despite the times when it feels a little fragile.

Lo.