The Last Day of Being 5

Here they are! The Top 5 Things About Being 5 according to my 5.9972-year-old:

Going to a toy store and seeing a bunch of cool stuff.

Building snow hills.

Making a leaf house with a bunch of real stuff I found outside.

When we remodeled.

I got to see Grandma and Grandpa.

My list probably looks a little different. Like:

Starting kindergarten.

Losing the first tooth.

Getting included by his siblings more and more.

Becoming more independent.

Learning to read.

What I noticed about his list is that until I reminded him that being 5 was a WHOLE YEAR, his favorite things about being 5 had all happened in the last week. 

Today is Beckett’s last day of being 5. My youngest child’s last day of being 5, that sweet whole-handed age. When I remembered this morning, the first thing I did was scoop him up and give him a long hug while I fought back tears.

Because even though Beckett’s perspective is so short - the best thing about being 5 literally happened yesterday! - my mom perspective is long. 

I remember the feel of his newborn baby weight on my chest.

I remember the (many) nights he laughed for hours in his crib at night, wide awake and throwing himself a toddler party.

I remember the wobble of his first steps.

I remember the toy cars lined up on the floor and the stairs and the couches and the table.

I remember summer days in the shady backyard with all 4 kids playing.

I remember weekday mornings spent in the driveway with 3 little boys on wheels and big sister across the street at school. 

When Beckett thinks about being 6, he pictures his first day back at school, a Subway sandwich, ice cream, presents, and a well-deserved focus on the birthday boy. Literally only tomorrow. 

I think ahead to what’s coming around the corner:

The last of the baby roundness and cute little toes.

The loss of his little speech quirks that will inevitably drift away into “big boy” talk.

1st grade, 2nd grade, middle school, back talk (not necessarily in that order)

There are great things about having 4 school-aged kids.

It’s easier to be spontaneous! 

Easier to go places! 

Easier to stay home and get things done! 

And I LOVE watching them growing their friendships with each other.

So as I sit in this in-between space today, this space between 5 & 6, I’m sad about what’s behind us even as I am happy with where we are going. 

I know that there are good things and hard things about every age and stage. I know there are SO many good things to come. I don’t look back and wish I had “cherished every moment,” because let’s be real: There were also a whole lot of messy bodily fluids and messier tantrums. Spoiler alert: There still are.

But I am aware that I can never go back. That’s what makes older parents say, “You’re going to miss this,” while you have a hungry toddler screaming on your hip in the checkout line. They can’t go back. And with every passing year, the memories shift more and more towards the sweet, solid weight of a toddler on your hip and further away from the sound of that toddler shrieking in your ear.

Good news: As parents, we can decide if we want to have a little cry about the chubby baby hands we miss. Or revel in the fact that every kid can wipe his or her own bottom and zip up his or her own coat. Or look ahead to whatever we’re looking forward to about the next stage. We can even do all 3 things that once. 

And that’s A+ Parenting Today.

"Mom Scouts" Badges

I've often thought that Mom Scouts (and Dad Scouts) should be a thing. Earning badges for parenting rites of passage? Sign me up! 

Some badges I earned early in my parenting career included:

The "First Blowout" Badge: Earned the first time your baby's diaper doesn't do its duty, but your baby sure does.

The "Here's Your Baby" Badge: Earned for a particularly swift hand-off when baby's daddy walks through the door at the end of a long, fussy day.

The "Ah-ha! Nuh-uh" Badge: Earned when you thought you had this baby sleep thing figured out... until the next night.

I thought about these Mom Scouts badges again today, because I realized that being rewarded for the inevitable messiness of parenting might help. Sometimes. At least a little. (Or maybe that's just me? I'm a wee bit competitive...)

So HERE are the Mom Scouts badges that I've earned in the past 48 hours:

The "Human Puke Bucket" Badge: Earned when you have caught the majority of your child's vomit on your own person.

The "Waterworks" Badge: Earned when you unapologetically burst into tears in front of your children.

The "Double Bubble" Badge: Earned when you need to drain the tub, clean out the bodily fluids, and bathe your child again.

The "Loads of Loads" Badge: Earned when you complete 15+ loads of laundry in a 48-hour period.

The "Full Tummies" Badge: Earned when a meal is 2 hours late and comes from a drive-thru, but hey, your offspring get fed.

The "Roll Up the Rugs and Cover the Couches" Badge: When you prep the house for a potential puke storm.

The "Peek-a-boo" Badge: Earned when you frequently (perhaps obsessively) peek around the bedroom door to check on your sick and sleeping child.

The "I Bet the Target Employees Washed Their Hands After This Order" Badge: Earned when you only purchase three things - Pedialyte, Clorox, and Lysol - in a single transaction.

The "Lysol Bomb" Badge: Earned when your house smells strongly like an "Early Morning Breeze" late at night.

The "Praying I Don't Earn Any More Badges Today" Badge: Enough said.

Have you earned any Mom or Dad Scouts badges recently? I'd love to hear about them. Because rewarding ourselves for making it through the projectile vomit to the shower on the other side is A+ Parenting Today.

For All the Brave Ones

This is for all the Brave Ones...

The ones whose chicks have grown and flown
The ones whose chicks have only just hatched

The ones who are cautiously, fearfully trying again
The ones with the heartaches, large or small

The ones waking up hour after hour after hour at night
The ones who can't even fall asleep

The ones chasing a new dream
The ones rediscovering an old one

The ones who hold another mama's baby, if just for a little while
The ones who say "I will" to the older child and the hurting child

The ones who can't see a way through
The ones who hold another mom's hand, cook another mom's meal, listen to another mom's story

The ones washing the clothes, and the dishes, and more clothes, and more dishes
The ones changing the diapers and cleaning out the potties

The ones looking over a shoulder while a child writes
The ones sitting in a passenger seat while a child drives

The ones feeling a forehead, taking a temperature
The ones sitting next to a hospital bed

The ones who feel a little out of place right now
The ones who are in a really good place right now

The ones with one kid, five kids, no kids
The ones walking on a different road than the one on which they started

The ones who pack the diapers, check the backpacks, watch the clocks
The ones who do all the ordinary, extraordinary things every day

You are not alone.

We are not alone.

This is for all the Brave Ones.

That's A+ Parenting Today.

Little Red Driving Slippers: An A+ Parenting Fairy Tale

Two brothers. One pair of red Lightning McQueen slippers. The A+ Parenting Moment That Would Change Everything. 

One morning, the older brother was supposed to be eating the oatmeal he'd requested (which his mother had so lovingly prepared). Instead, he and his younger brother were standing on the couch, looking out the windows, and watching garbage trucks drive by on the street. (This happened to occur on the day of the weekly festival known colloquially as Garbage Truck Day.)

Suddenly, the mother heard a blood-curdling, shiver-inducing shriek, the cry of a maddened wolf spotting his prey. Half a moment later, she heard a rising crescendo, the answering scream of an innocent young creature in distress.

The mother sprang into action. Surely, some rabid animal has attacked!

Indeed, the younger brother had committed the most egregious of crimes: The putting on of the older brother's red Lightning McQueen slippers. The older brother had reacted with wild animal instincts, snatching the slippers off the offender's tiny feet, screaming maniacally, and flinging the slippers onto the floor across the room, where no one could reach them. The younger brother had cried out at the older brother's rapid ferocity and injustice.

And there, the mother found them: Two brothers, with no slippers, panting.

The mother intuitively recognized the opportunity for an A+ Parenting Moment. She knelt down on the floor, and gazed into the older brother's brown eyes - nay, his very soul.

"If you scream at your brother, then when he learns to talk, that is the way he will talk to you."

The older brother was silent, surely processing the deep wisdom that was piercing his heart.

"So you need to talk to your brother the way you want him to talk to you."

The mother watched as these life-changing words made their way into the essence of his being.

The forest suburban animals sang songs of rejoice! Invisible fairies danced in the air around mother and son!

And the mother knew: Her darling, gentle son would never, ever raise his voice to his younger brother again.

And that's A+ Parenting Today.

Let's Play "Cherry Kool-Aid... or Blood?"

A+ Parenting isn't all fun and games. I mean, there are diapers. Fun? No. Game? No. There is Candy Land. Fun? No. Game? Yes. And there is destruction. Fun? Sometimes (not for you). Game? Sometimes (also, not for you). 

Here's a little game we played at our house this week, called: "Cherry Kool-aid... or Blood?"

Set-Up:

1. Have a young friend over to the house. Call this friend "Sparky" to protect his or her identity. Sparky should be funny, impulsive, independent, and adventurous. Some of the best friends are, right? So anyway, you should have Sparky over to your house. Your kids will be excited, I promise.
2. Have three 5-pound packages of raw hamburger meat in the refrigerator for your upcoming freezer meal swap. Sam's Club or Costco memberships are optional, but recommended. 
3. Go upstairs. For optimum game play experience, Sparky should be left to his or her own devices for a short period of time.

Game Play:

1. Sparky opens the refrigerator, probably to get out some milk.
2. Sparky calls out to your child, "Uh, Your Child's Name, we have a little problem here."
3. Assume the problem is some spilled milk. And there's no use crying. Keep doing what you're doing.
4. Your child goes downstairs to Sparky.
5. Your child says, "Um... I think that's blood."
6. Sparky says, "Well, I tasted it."
7. You go downstairs, quickly now.

How the Game Ends:

1. Check the floor. Observe several large red drops that look like Cherry Kool-Aid... or Blood. One has clearly been swiped at and tasted. 
2. Ask yourself: Cherry Kool-Aid... or Blood?"
3. If you:
1. Have no Cherry Kool-Aid, AND
2. Look in the refrigerator and clearly see that blood has leaked out of one of the 5-lb hamburger packages, THEN

Congratulations!!! You win! Or you lose!

That's "Cherry Kool-Aid... Or Blood?"

And that's A+ Parenting Today.

Peanuts and Pointing Fingers

One week ago, I walked into Target and walked out with 2 Epi-pens. (Also: 2 gallons of milk, 3 pairs of children's sunglasses, 1 bunch of bananas, 2 jars of applesauce, 1 bag of marshmallows... and so on. But back to the Epi-pens...)

I never planned on needing Epi-pens. Who does, right? 

I do read Nutrition Facts, and I slide my eyes down a list of Ingredients. I even check out the allergen statements now and then, if I'm preparing something for a friend who has a food allergy. I just didn't expect to be checking for peanuts, or to register a meaningful difference between "processed in a facility with" vs. "processed on equipment that". I didn't picture myself as a mom of a kid with a peanut allergy. 

That is, until about three weeks ago and a quick-forming red rash around my one-year-old's mouth. The bar I'd made (ironically for a friend whose kids can't eat gluten) only had three simple ingredients: Cheerios, honey, and peanut butter. 

Two weeks, one blood test, and one scratch test later... And now I know.

I know that my third child can have a peanut allergy even if my first two have no allergies at all.

I know how to recognize the signs of anaphylaxis.

I know that I would need to hold the Epi-pen in my 1-year-old's baby leg for ten. whole. seconds. that's. about. this. long. including. screaming. yikes.

I know that there are certain restaurants we should avoid, and that "going out for ice cream" won't be quite as straightforward.

And I know that I did nothing differently to cause this.

I've done this baby thing before with allergy-free results!

I let Isaac play in the dirt.

I didn't explicitly feed him peanut butter before age 1, but I also didn't shield him from all things peanuty. He'd certainly been "exposed."

He does not live in an anti-bacterial bubble. Definitely not.

It just happened. He ate peanuts. He reacted. The allergist did a test and confirmed it. End of chapter. Beginning of new one. This isn't life-changing, but it is lifestyle-changing. 

For the most part, other people's reactions have ranged from "how did you find out?" to "at least it's only one allergen" to "oh no! I'm sorry!" to (my personal favorite) "did you do this, or not do that, or did you do this, and is that why he has it?"

I want to assume that the last segment of question askers mean well. Maybe they want to know how to avoid doing whatever I did so that their kid can eat PB&J's and DQ Blizzards (sorry Isaac). Maybe they've read up on it and feel somewhat educated, and therefore immune. I get it. To an extent, so did I.  

But guys, that last reaction, no matter how well it is meant, is basically finger-pointing. Like the poor so-called "refrigerator mothers" of the 1950s after their kids were diagnosed with autism, or, later, the false study that assigned the blame to vaccinations. Like giving no end of advice to parents whose babies truly don't sleep well, as if they haven't tried everything in the book, as if they just don't want sleep badly enough! Like looking askew at parents with a severely picky eater, as if they always only planned for their kid to eat just beige foods. 

There are genes, and environment, and temperament, and goodness-of-fit, and the best of intentions. 

Someday, when the research is clearcut, then we can all look back with our 20/20 hindsight vision and say: 

Isaac got a peanut allergy because of his affinity for wearing mismatched shoes. 

Until then, I'll have my Epi-pens, and my 3-year-old's monochromatic rainbow of foods, and my ever-expanding supply of empathy for moms and the one-of-a-kind kids they are raising. 

Time According to a Three-Year-Old

Three-year-old Tucker's most pressing question these days has been, "And what we do after that?" 

"What we do after my nap, Mama?"

"Maisy will come home."

"What we do after that?"

"Play."

"What we do after we play?"

"Eat supper."

"What we do after supper?"

"It's bath night."

"What we do after that?"

"Go nigh-night."

"What we do after we wake up?"

And so the chain continues, for as long as I manage to keep it up. It's usually a pretty mundane list involving meals, potty breaks, naps, and playtime, occasionally peppered with slightly more interesting events like going to church, or Grandma and Grandpa's house, or ice skating lessons. 

Tucker doesn't seem to mind the ordinary nature of the list. He might cheer about going to Grandma's, or groan about bath night if he isn't in the mood. In general, though, he's just curious about the passage of time: What comes next? When will we be home? When will I start preschool?

Today in the car, we had a slightly different version of the "what next?" conversation.

"When will I be in high school, Mama?"

"In about eleven years."

"Whoa! After my go to preschool, my going to kindergarten, and then my be in high school!"

"Not quite, buddy."

And so came the list:

"After preschool, you'll be in kindergarten. First you'll be in elementary school, then middle school, then high school, and then comes college. And after that, you'll be a grown-up like Mommy and Daddy." (Let's be real, people. We weren't "grown-ups" in college.)

His eyes widened, and his mouth formed a little O. 

"Wow! That will be in 10 minutes!!"

I laughed to myself. But I also had this tiny flash go off in my brain, like "this is one of those moments." I couldn't help but think ahead to some time in the future, when the rest of Tucker's baby roundness is gone, and he has said "I" instead of "my" for so long we have forgotten it was his thing. When he doesn't need me to buckle his car seat straps because he is driving his own car. When it has been many years since we were together all day every day, checking away at an unwritten list of mundane daily activities.  

Will it feel like it has been just 10 minutes? 

In September, Tucker starts preschool. From that point on, he'll spend incrementally less and less time at home, and more and more time as his own person out in the big world. My sweet little boy. I don't dread the passing of time. I don't even really feel like I need to slow it down, or savor the moments, or any of that business.

I just kind of like sitting here while my toddler boys nap, typing a more sentimental blog post, and drinking in this bittersweet sensation of my children growing up, just as they should. 

After all, in 10 minutes their sister will be home from school, and I'll be frantically preparing her an early dinner and braiding her hair for her ice show dress rehearsal tonight. I'll be changing diapers, dumping plastic potties, refereeing fights, and, oh yes, I have to squeeze in a way to also pick up flowers from the school fundraiser between 3:30 and 5:30. In 10 minutes, I'll be going non-stop.

But according to my three-year-old, 10 minutes after that they'll be all grown up, just like Mommy and Daddy.

I guess that's A+ Parenting Today.