Little Tiny CEO

Dear Cohen,

Two years.  This is where I'm supposed to say, "I can't believe you are 2" and I can't because you're my baby.  But then...when were you not a part of our family?  A part of me?  It doesn't seem like I just met you two years ago.  It seems like you've always been around.  So much so that I recently looked at old pictures from before I was even pregnant with you and thought "Wow, life must have been so weird then."

Strange how a person can come into your life and just make it the new normal without a word.  There's no great shift.  Just all of the sudden you exist and it's like you always have.

But two...

Two is so much bigger than you were a year ago.  And just completely on the other side of the world from where you were 2 years ago.  You amaze me.  You are light years ahead of any other two year old I've ever known.

I guess that's the curse/blessing of the 3rd child.  You're going to grow up so fast.

Already you are so independent.  You want to be just like the big kids.  We aren't even allowed to consider a highchair these days.  Strapping you in takes an act of God.  You'd much rather sit in a seat and come and go as you please.  Sippy cups?  No way.  Pass the big kid cups.

You follow Ainsley and Freddie everywhere and pitch an absolute fit when I don't allow you down to the playroom or outside without me.

You started climbing out of your crib a month ago.  I'm not really sure what to do with you there.  Ainsley and Freddie were over 2, more like 2.5, when they did it.  You no longer want anyone to take you out of the crib.  You can do it yourself.

You want to brush your own teeth and read your own books and get your own milk.

You have lots to say, and even more to do.  You're always busy.  Always talking.  I can remember you as a tiny thing, thinking how could you possibly ever talk or walk.  But you can and you do, because that's how it goes.  We spend so much of our grown up lives not changing, that watching a baby become a toddler, then a kid is incredible.

The older kids like to play "punch buggy" in the car.  You are not one to be left out.  So randomly I'll hear you yell "Buddy!  White!"  You have a favorite Knock-Knock joke...

You: "Not - Not."
Us: "Who's there?"
You: "Tow."
Us: "Cow who?"
You: "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

You ask questions and then more questions and when we answer you reply "Ohhhhhhh" like it's so logical.

When the others ride their bikes, you ride yours.  Down every hill, around every turn, you are right behind them.  You can ride a scooter like a pro.  You can climb up any playground structure.  Just the other day, I turned for a handful of seconds, and when I looked back you were teetering on the top rung of a ladder about 7 feet in the air.  Reaching your tiny foot over to the landing.  Babe, that ladder was not made for a munchkin like you.  It was not made for little toddler legs.  I sprinted over, screaming for you to wait, but you had already made the leap and just giggled down at me as you ran to the slide.

You are fearless.  You have no caution flag, no yellow light...just full-throttle.  You run.  You go.  You jump.  And you don't want any hand holding or help along the way.  Railings were not made for you.  You walk down stairs with your hands behind your back, defying us to stop you.

You have epic light saber fights with Freddie.  You already have the fighting stance.  You color with Ainsley.  You pick your colors carefully even though right now they are all "bue" or "yeyow."

When we try to get you dressed, you have very strong opinions about your style.  Yesterday we went through every single pair of socks you own.  All of them discarded to the floor with an "Ah na yike dat sock."  You ended up sockless.

Today it's choosing socks but one day I think you'll be tackling stock options or magazine covers with the same decisive authority.  You'll go far, little man.  And no one's going to help you.  You're going to do it all on your own, because that's the way you like it.

Happy Birthday Cohen!  We love you as big as your personality, as loud as your screams, and as funny as your knock knock jokes.

Love,
Mommy

Mommy Notes

I have so many things I want to write about.  Every single day I think of 5-10 blog posts.  Then I can't get to the computer or I'm at the computer but have a million things to do for work.  But today is the day after Christmas and I'm one of the only people in Washington DC at work.  I may be one of the only 5 people in my building today.  So screw work right now, I'm going to write this instead.


Often times, I forget that my family is not a silo.  Clif came from parents who love him.  I came from parents who love me.  We get so wrapped up in our family, that sometimes we forget that there are these extensions.  We forget that our kids won't always be this little, that someday they'll be grown with their own families and we'll be the extensions.  I want that for my kids, because the family that Clif and I have built makes me more happy than anything else in the world.  But the thought makes me sad.  I don't want to think about a day when Ainsley and Freddie and Cohen aren't hanging out on the couch in their PJs on Christmas morning.  And all I have to do to make them smile is buy an American Girl Doll, a big tractor, and a box for Cohen. 

On Monday, I brought Ainsley to work with me.  She was off of school, it was a half day right before the holiday for me, it was just easier than working something else out.

She wrote me this note...

And today I'm sitting here looking at it and feeling sad because I think, how much longer will she write me little notes like this?  How much longer will she call  me mommy?  How long before she wishes someone else were her mother?  She's growing up so fast, I can't believe we just spent our 7th Christmas with her.  That's more Christmases than Clif and I spent together, without her.

So today, I  have a letter.  Not for my kids, but for my mommy.  Because as a mommy, I know my kids will always be my babies...I can only imagine she feels the same way.  And I'd like to think that 30 years from now, I can still get a note from my "dotr" that will warm my heart.

 Dear Mom,

Sometimes, when I'm having a difficult time with one of my children, I think about you.  I wonder how you did it.  You were SOOO much younger than me.  I think, here I am at 36 feeling like I'm going to just sit in the corner and throw a screaming, crying fit because my 3 year old will not stop jumping on the couch and the baby won't sleep and the 6 year old insists on sounding out every single word in the book for the last 30 minutes.  I'm 36 and I want to act like a 4 year old in these moments.  How did you do it at 19 or 21 or 25?  Proof that maturity is not always linked to age.  You have told me more times than I can count, you do what you need to do.

And you hear all these stories about women who just can't step up.  Who are young and not ready to be mom's and they just abandon or neglect their kid.  You've told me that you once hoped to grow up and raise St. Bernards, not children.  But there you were, with 3 kids and if you hadn't told me that story, I'd have never known you never imagined yourself as a mother.

I don't know how much advice you got from your mom.  I know you weren't reading parenting books, or googling "how do I get my damn kid to freaking sleep."  You just did.  I don't for one second think it was easy, but as a kid, I never felt like it was hard.

So I want to thank you, mom.  Thank you for making barbie clothes, thank you for teaching me to count the seconds between thunder and lightning, thank you for screaming and cheering at my softball games, thank you for my microscope, thank you for telling me the truth, thank you for being an awesome grandma, thank you for bad hair cuts, thank you for not allowing me to wear make up, thank you for fake cabbage patch dolls until you could afford a real one, thank you for grounding me for bad grades, thank you for loving my husband, thank you for teaching me to ride a bike without training wheels, thank you for being a strong woman, thank you for going back and finishing your education, thank you for making me get a job early, thank you for giving me chores, thank you for taking me to church, thank you for letting me make my own mistakes, thank you for asking my permission on anything concerning the kids...thank you for being my mommy.  I've always felt loved and wanted.  You have been the perfect mom for me and I'm so thankful for you.

Love your dotr,
Jaime