Saturday, September 26, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
If only I had known how wonderful five-year olds are! I would've probably been more inclined to consider having another newborn prior to now. I know I’m not supposed to have favorites, but this is the best JEB ever! Do I love you more now than I ever have? Absolutely. I can’t help it; you are delicious.
All the adjectives I can think of to describe you will sound dull compared to how they feel when you exemplify them: LOVING, SWEET, FUNNY, SMART, CONFIDENT, CARING, ENERGETIC, TALKATIVE, THOUGHTFUL, GENEROUS, OUTSTANDING, and MORE (of course). When I watch you, I understand what my daddy meant every time he said, “You’re my pride & joy.” I get it now.
The five-alive you makes me feel badly about all those times I joked of dropping you off at the fire station (you know, they don't ask questions). The five-year-old you has me wrapped completely around his finger (even when it has a big booger on it). The fabulous-five you feels like the perfect thing to pick up after work, the most fun buddy in the world, the biggest love ever.
These are a few of my favorite things:
• Your stash of candy in the freezer
• Your affinity for saving the best for last
• Your inspection of food products for contaminants such as food dye or high fructose corn syrup
• Your reminders in the morning ("Mom, did you get your water bottle, the keys, my lunch?")
• Your sweet tooth (makes sense -- you were named after Pappaw, who worked at an ice cream factory)
• Your ability to tie your own shoes and your business sense about this marketable skill (not all the kids in pre-K can tie shoes, so Ms. Audrey pays you one Skittle for each shoe you tie at school)
• Your heartbroken expression when I told you that Skittles contain food dye
• Your obsession with finding out which toys are for 5+ year olds
• Your embarrassing comments at "the popcorn doctor" (chiropractor) regarding who is old, who is a good doctor, which vaccines and medications you've had (to the doctor's horror), etc.
• Your stories, wherein there is almost always a "tootin' contest"
• Your questions about "seegarettes" and "littering" -- a double whammy
• Your big plans for the baby -- your baby
Oh but bud, despite all the evidence that things are going generally well for you, I worry. I try not to, but I cannot help but fret about the silliest things. I worry that my decreased time with you when the baby comes will negatively and permanently affect you, send you into therapy, and make you resent the baby. Or me.
I worry that you will watch The Fox & the Hound so much that you will start talking like Amos Slade and calling women “dadblasted females.” (Interestingly enough, I’ve never been concerned that the dadblasted female in that movie calls Amos a trigger-happy lunatic.)
I worry that I’m too hard on you. I worry that I’m too easy on you. I worry that I’m inconsistently hard and easy.
But despite all of my fears that I could never be as good of a mom as you are a kid, most of my time is spent these days saying, “Isn’t he sweet? Isn’t this a great stage? Isn’t he hilarious?”
You’re the kind of kid who thanks me for taking care of you when you’re sick. You’re the kind of kid who notices when a friend is having a bad day and lends them a toy (albeit for a specified amount of time). You’re the kind of kid who gets excited about having his own library card … going fishing … eating out at a restaurant … playing Go Fish ... getting a popsicle (or Gatorade or Sprite or unhealthy chips) … having a baby.
My most favorite thing about the five-year old you is how much you are like your dad. Good and bad, you’re like your dad. You have a strong loyalty to the family, a great love of grandparents and other relatives, a fascination with recycling & biking & Jack Johnson, a temper, a tendency to fall apart when you’re tired, an affinity for early mornings, Waffle House, storytelling, tools.
And so I worry that we will come to rue the teenage years.
John-John, you steal my heart almost every day. I beam when you say to people, “Now there are four of us!” I light up when you pitter-pat into my bedroom: “Mornin’ Mom hey guess what!” I love your you-ness.
It’s so hard to let/watch you grow up, but it’s simultaneously easy and really fun. Thanks for that.
p.s. Don’t forget to pay your bills! See you in the funny papers!
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
We shopped for shoes, got some Godiva chocolate, picked up a free gift at Aveda, and then coincidentally passed by an upscale maternity shop. We went in with the intention of checking the sales rack, but then we saw three really "Kimmy" items (not on sale) that Brian thought I couldn't live without. While I sat outside on the bench crying because of the indulgence of it all, Brian spent more than his car is worth on 3 items of clothing for a person who will only be able to wear them for a couple more months, citing "you need to feel pretty" as a reasonable justification of his behavior.
Three weeks passed, and I had only worn one item. I'm not sure why ... maybe I have a little of my son's tendency to "save things." (He does this, for example, when there is something that he deems better than something else -- say you give him an assortment of foods to eat ... he'll eat everything he doesn't like first and save the best for last). In John's case, this makes sense and seems like a good use of executive function in early childhood. In my current case, this is stupid, as one is only pregnant for a limited amount of time, and I'm already in my 3rd trimester.
But then today I decided to wear my new ankle-length, softer-than-silk black skirt (along with a baby pink tank top from Target and a Gap jean jacket circa 1995). As I was putting on the skirt, I noticed that it had a tag pinned to the outside (safety-pinned tags are an indicator of good quality in my experience). The tag read, "NICOLE -- exclusively by Nicole Richie for A Pea in the Pod." And I thought, "Wow, all this time I have been thinking what a lovely, thoughtful, generous husband I have, and I hadn't even thought to send a mental (or written) shout-out to Lionel Richie. For, if he hadn't adopted Nicole, and she hadn't become the ice-skater/musician/ actress turned chic celeb fashion designer that she is today, then Brian would've never had the opportunity to buy me this FAB black skirt, and I would've gone to work today in a moo-moo, feeling nothing but worry that I might never shed these extra 30 pounds and/or contract the swine flu.
I feel pretty,
Oh so pretty,
I feel pretty,
(And I pity any preggos who don't feel this way.)
There's not too many people who can say they feel GAY these days and still mean it in the old-fashioned sense of the word.
So thanks BRIAN (& Lionel!), for making my day special. If I'm lucky, then maybe later today the phone will ring, and it'll be someone just calling to say they love me.