growing up

So This Is Six
School Age Days

So This Is Six

by Jill
written by Jill

 

“Hey dad, suck my dictionary. Heh.”

“Um, what? What did you say?”

“I said SUCK MY DICTIONARY. Hahahaha.”

That was an exchange between Kendall and Scott in a public place recently. We then banned him from a certain YouTube channel that originally passed our filters.

**************

“Mom, where does money come from?”

“You earn it by doing jobs.”

“But where do the people who give it to you get it from?”

“Well, they earn it from doing their jobs.”

“Okayyyyyyyy, but where does IT COME FROM? Like, does it just, like, appear? In the air?”

“Oh God, it’s way too early to talk about the US Treasury.”

“Treasure? It’s in a treasure chest?”

“Sort of? Yes. Let’s go with that for now.”

“Cool!”

***************

“So I’m going to host a Hyrule Warriors (video game) party, okay? Are you the one who deals with this? I want to invite all my friends, and we’re going to need a lot of snacks.”

Yes son, I’m the one who “deals” with the family party planning. Great job picking up on my job description. Unfortunately all our venues are currently booked and you can’t afford my rates.

*************

Kendall’s been playing baseball since he was 3, but for the first time, he’s now signed up for flag football. We’re used to team sports at this point. Scott actually coaches his baseball team. But football? It’s not going so well.

Kendall has no idea what he’s doing on the field because, well, it’s his first season ever and, um, he’s six. He’s high energy, and he doesn’t focus very well, but he wants to play, he wants to do his best. He just needs some direction, some attention, and some coaching.

I went to a practice/scrimmage for the first time yesterday. It was awful. The coaches were visibly annoyed by him. His high energy and lack of focus caused them to ignore him and put him on the sidelines for the majority of the NOT EVEN A REAL GAME. Not a single one of the 4 coaches took him aside for any one on one time, and 3 of them straight up walked past him when he arrived at practice without so much as even a hello. It was so bad that I was convinced we walked up to the wrong team.

For the first time ever, I witnessed adults recoil at his happy, free spirit, and it broke my heart.

**********

“Oh! I know, mom, how about instead of some Legos, I can get us some flowers for the kitchen?”

I took Kendall to Target with me the other day. Just him and me. Anytime he knows we’re going there, he begins his campaign for something “small.” There was, apparently, some sort of “small Lego set” he really wanted… until he remembered the flowers.

“Uh, well, sure. Yeah. Let’s get some flowers.”

He darted off with glee the minute we walked in the doors, shouting over his shoulder “I’ll be right back! I’m going to pick out the flowers!”

“You know, you used to call these wowers?” I said. “It’s been too long since we’ve bought some. I’m so glad you traded in your Legos for them. Thanks, buddy.”

**********

We caught a Harry Potter movie on TV a couple months ago, but we only saw a little bit of it. It piqued Kendall’s interest, though. He wanted to know if we could watch the whole thing.

“Nope. Not a chance, buddy. Not until we read the books.”

About a month ago, I bought the first Harry Potter book, figuring it would probably go unread for at least a year, but maybe I’d read it alone.

Tonight, I read the first chapter aloud to Kendall, fully expecting him to get fidgety and whine about how long it was taking. He interrupted once or twice, did his fair share of fidgeting, and I just couldn’t tell if he was even listening.

At the end of the first chapter, I started to dog-ear the page, and mentioned we could read the next chapter tomorrow.

“Can we please read another one tonight? PLEASE?”

Wait. What? Did that really just happen? Did I really just read 2 full chapters of Harry Potter aloud to my willing child? Did he actually say he’s excited about hearing chapter 3 tomorrow?

So this is six.

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The StoryToddlers

She Grows With Glitter

by Jill
written by Jill

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The first thing the hairstylist asked her was, “Do you want glitter in your hair?”

OF COURSE she did.

The minor issue was the hairstylist meant AFTER she finished. So Leyna spent the whole 15 minutes it took for her very first real haircut asking, “Where’s da gwitter? Is it puhpul? I wike puhpul! Is it up dere?” ::looks at scissors mid snip::

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We took the boys to Great Clips the weekend before, and she was quite disappointed that she didn’t get a haircut, too. So I thought I’d make it special, and take her to the place where she can get glitter in her hair, on her face, a purple hair extension AND a lollipop. At first, she cried when we pulled up in front.

“Dis is not da hair pwace!”

Don’t worry, she got over it.

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It was just a tiny trim. I made sure those sweet curls were preserved because they signify so much of her babyhood to me still. I remember when the first curl started to swirl itself at the nape of her chubby, infant neck.

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But no matter how long the curls stay, the babyhood slips further away each day. Just look at her. She’s 3…. and tomorrow she’s 13.

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And while I’m certain I’ll long for babyhood, at times, and the simplicity of that lone curl…

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I truly look forward to sharing more special moments with this little lady.

I mean, doesn’t she look TWELVE there? I think there’s something in that glitter.

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School Age DaysThe StoryToddlers

I’m Not Alright With The Growing Up Thing

by Jill
written by Jill

Prior to entering the room, it never occurred to me that Kendall’s pre K recital was going to make me question my journey through motherhood. I thought I’d show up, take some pictures, they’d sing some songs, and we’d go have ice cream after it’s done. Just like we’ve done every year.

Except this year is the last year because next year he’s going to be in Kindergarten.

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And suddenly, it hit me- that train that I thought wasn’t going to catch up to me. The one I thought I’d been smart enough to stay one step ahead of. The one that knocked me on my ass and reminded me, “YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL OF TIME.”

No amount of picture taking or memory making can stop your kid from growing up. No amount of blogging about how much you know they are going to grow up, no amount of acknowledging that you can’t freeze time makes it feel ok to not be able to freeze time.

You know what? I’m really not alright with this growing up thing. I’m not cool with the turning 5 and going to Kindergarten part. I’m not okay with knowing I’ve wished away so much of the last 5 years. I tried to stop myself from doing that when he was a newborn…

I know I’ve spent more than my fair share on here complaining in some way or another, and I’m really not writing this to sugar coat things.  The fact remains that the last 6 weeks have been TOUGH in a lot of ways, but as I started packing tonight for our big move to Dallas next week I couldn’t help but get a little sad.  My baby is six weeks old.  He will never be younger than this again.  He will never be smaller than this again.  He’s growing so much already…  So I write this to remind myself and anyone else out there in the bowels of newborn hell to stop and TRY to enjoy it, even if it’s only for the brief moments throughout the day that he is not crying and not demolishing my breasts.  Looking back, it scares to think how quickly the last six weeks have gone (although they seem like a lifetime too in some ways).  Although I’m exhausted 90% of the time and frustrated 50% of the time, I don’t want to wish away these precious days.  I surely will never get them back.

But the overwhelmed waves washed over me time and time again. Just get through this stage. Just get past this age. Just get beyond this milestone. I wished and I wished for things to be easier, knowing full well it’s not that they ever get easier. They just become a different kind of difficult.

And I write this knowing that I’ll never be able to stop myself from wishing away days, moments, stages, ages. Because I’m human.

That is really what’s getting to me here. I know, no matter what I would have done over the last five years, no matter how many more special outings I would have taken him on, no matter how many more crafts I made with him or books I read to him, I would still have regrets.

Parenting is a human experience. Remember, Jill? 

It’s the regrets, I think, that make it hard to give into time passing.

It’s knowing I’m going to continue to make mistakes, and that there’s no pressing the pause button. There are no do-overs. There’s no way to take anything back. And what happens between now and 13 years from now is going to matter so much.

Blink. He’s one.

Blink. He’s five.

Blink. He’s gone.

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School Age DaysThe Story

I’m Going To Be A Wreck In August

by Jill
written by Jill

He was determined to get himself there. Scooting faster than I’ve ever seen him, his legs reached further than they ever have before.

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Watching him race to the school made me remember that time he wanted so badly to keep up with the big kids in the neighborhood, calling out “FWIENDS!” desperate to join them.

Oh, sweetheart. One day you will be able to join them…One day you will be big enough to look both ways before you cross the street by yourself and join the rest of your “fwiends” in a rowdy game of tag… And until then, when your feet can keep up and your legs can make strides big enough to run as fast as those big kids you so admire, I will be your playmate…because I know my days are numbered. I know that one day entirely too soon you will be too fast for me, you will be too strong for me, you will be too big for me. – September 14, 2010 “Baby, My Baby, You Will Be Big Someday… Soon”

I huffed along behind him, holding my pregnant belly, not able to keep up. Watching as he’d race toward Scott pushing Leyna on her tricycle ahead of us. Then he’d stop and wait for me to catch up.

He’s too fast now. He’s too big now. He’s ready now.

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There was a little uncertainty from all of us when we walked into that cafeteria. Kendall cautiously went into the library with the teachers so they could ask him some basic questions and talk to him a little about the school. I sat down at a table and began to fill out all the paperwork. Scott chased Leyna.

How did we get here? Wasn’t it just yesterday I took that pregnancy test? Wasn’t it just yesterday he was born? I never thought when I started this blog, that I’d write about the day I registered my first baby for kindergarten. Back then that all seemed too far away to even comprehend. His whole life is here. It’s on these pages. From conception to this… pregnant with a 2 year old and a kid big enough to lose teeth and start school.

“Why is this school so big?” he quietly asked.
“Because so many BIG kids go here,” I responded. It was the first time I teared up.

Oh God. I’m going to be a wreck in August.

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He wasn’t too thrilled to pose for any pictures for me. I forced a couple obligatory shots. Snapping away while hearing the conversation behind me between a few moms turn to the PTA and Room Mom sign ups.

There were sheets out at the tables to volunteer for such things.

I suddenly felt like I was grossly unprepared for this. Kendall may be bigger and faster and ready. I, however, am still the same flakey, overwhelmed me. Flipping through the welcome packet, I read about the tardiness policy, absence notes, the importance of checking and initialing his folder daily, schedules, lunch money. I forgot to bring his birth certificate, immunization record and my I.D. with us to register.

Oh God. I’m going to suck at this.

Of course, I avoided the PTA and Room Mom signup sheets like herpes. I couldn’t get past the visions of arriving late for the 7:30 a.m. bell every morning to even consider them. SEVEN THIRTY A.M.

Oh God. I am going to die.

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He settled in, the trepidation barely noticeable anymore. “This place is cool,” he calmly noted. “Yeah, it is,” I agreed.

The tone and tempo of his conversations on the way home exuded confidence. Ready or not… here we come.

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This summer, I think, will be a little like that feeling you get when you wait in line for the coolest, biggest, scariest roller coaster in the amusement park. Anticipation, mixed with nerves, mixed with the knowledge that the ride will be over way too fast.

Oh God. I’m going to be a wreck in August.

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A Letter To My 51 Year Old Self
ParenthoodPopular PostsThe Story

A Letter To My 51 Year Old Self

by Jill
written by Jill

Dear Me 20 Years From Now,

I wonder if you’ve become one of those women who briefly lingers around, a safe distance behind, young moms carting their babies and toddlers through the grocery store with that far-off look in your eyes. If you gently smile at the mom when she looks up and catches your glance, obviously frazzled by how challenging taking 2 kids grocery shopping is, as if to tell her it’s going to be okay. If you look at her and miss that time, want so badly to trade 5 minutes of the independence you have now that your kids are much older so that you can rest a toddler’s head on your shoulder, or buckle a baby in their car seat, mindful not to pinch any belly chub in the harness.

I have a feeling that you might be, and there are some things I want you to know, some things I’m willing you to remember.

I want you to remember that they were the hardest thing you’d ever done. They challenged you, and they kept you up at night. They pushed your buttons, and they were never, ever quiet… unless they were in trouble. I want you to remember that you loved them the hardest you’ve ever loved anything, from day one, and every day after that.

I want you to know that you were completely overwhelmed nearly all the time. The thought of taking them anywhere by yourself made you want to hide in bed all day. You were overwhelmed by the responsibility. You had NO clue what you were doing. You were overwhelmed by how much they trusted you and how much they needed you. You were overwhelmed by how much you needed and loved them.

I want you to remember how it felt to lay side by side next to your 4-year-old before he drifted off to sleep. How you talked face to face, nose to nose, about his day. How you told him you were excited to see how much he would grow by the morning, and how in the morning you’d lay in bed next to him and stretch his arms and legs out, exclaiming, “LOOK HOW MUCH YOU GREW LAST NIGHT!” How that put the biggest smile on his face.

I want you to remember what it felt like to hold your 18 month old on your lap, wrapping your arms around her and laying them on her bulging tummy. How the back of her head and the handful of baby curls at the nape of her neck felt and smelled when you rested your head atop hers.

I want you to know that you were acutely aware of how fast they were growing. Even though many days would pass in the blink of an eye, there would always be a moment when your world would snap to a halt, and you would look at them while they were doing something mundane and normal, and you would be painfully conscious that they were no longer the size they were last week, and that they would never be the size they are at that moment again.

I want you to know that you went to bed every night with one simple wish for the next day. To just do better.

Even though you were tired and challenged, exasperated and overwhelmed, you knew then that you would miss these days…most of them, at least. It was a truth that was hard to live with, and most of the time you ignored it because there was nothing you could do about the passing of time. If you spent your days mourning the ones that had gone by, you’d miss out on the days you were living in.

You knew you were on a light rail, moving at speeds you couldn’t comprehend. You had no control over the ride that brought you to where you are today, but believe me when I say you searched so very hard to find the emergency brake.

Please know, please remember that you tried to savor that time. Be at peace, knowing you spent late afternoons curled up with them on the couch, that sometimes you just sat and watched them move and run, that occasionally you took inventory of all the things they’d learned in the last week, and that you appreciated your time with them the best you knew how. Know that despite your very best efforts, there was no way to freeze time.

I promise you, you tried.

Love,
you

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