Party Pics!

Sam's 4th (yet first actual (with friends)) birthday party was held on 11/23/13.  Although it felt easy, I think it was a huge success in terms of 4yos.

Here is the evidence.

First, KUDOS to Nanny (the Maternal Grandmother Baker Extraordinaire) who made a chocolate football cake AND an entire Lego football scene centerpiece.

Brian was given the job of pinata, which turned out well though it was a somewhat last-minute addition.

Sam whacked the pinata with abandon, causing all sorts of extremity damage, including the loss of an arm.

Said arm.

The booty was claimed euphorically.

Then John took over.

The youngers seemed to like chasing the older one.

Nanny may have also been involved in the Lego cookies which I totally found ALL the directions for on Pinterest. 

First we decorated.

Then we devoured.

Afterwards it was time for some R&R.  Here I am reading Awesome Man, a gift by one of Sam's soccer buddies (not pictured).  Sam and Elijah seemed quite comfortable in this situation.

This one seemed comfortable with it all.

 HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAM-BAM!

To my 2nd on his 4th

Happy birthday Sweet Sam (aka Bam, Bamsy B., Monkey Man)!

Tonight as I was putting you to bed, you said this, an obvious echo of my own words: “I’m your baby.  I’ll always be your baby, even when I’m bigger than you.” 

And then you slung your nasty wet “Night-Night” (blanket) into my eye and expressed doubt that there might come a time when you could ever be bigger than me. 

Regardless.  Sam, here are some things that I want you to know, divided into three distinct categories: 




1)      Four things you think I don’t know 
2)      Four things I think you don’t know 
3)      Four reasons I think I know these things 

Part 1:  Four Things You Think I Don’t Know

• I know that you are picking up on everything.  One night when John was making fart noises, I said, “John, no one is enjoying that except you, so please stop or go do it in the privacy of your room because nobody likes that.”  And you responded, “Except Quinn.”  (Quinn is one of John’s best 3^rd grade friends). 

• I know that that you have been trying to make your own “good notes.”  Buddy – I’m so sorry that in your short life, one of the most memorable things for you is getting bad notes sent home in your lunch box.  We’re on our 2^nd preschool partially because of this, and it’s mostly because you are not afraid to be a kid … not scared to be mischievous or even brazen.  The other day when I went to pick you up, you met me with, “I have a good note!”  I was so happy.  And then I saw that your “good note” was two recycled and stapled-together “Pre-K Emergency Contact Info” index cards on which you had written “S     _M      ^A” (Sam) on the back.    

• I know that you don’t use soap when you wash your hands. 

• I know that you sneak candy into your room.

Part 2:  Four Things I Think You Don’t Know

•          Sometimes when you’re sleeping, Dad and I watch TV and fold laundry together and crack up about how little your underwear is.  Dad says things like, “A person with a butt this small is asleep in the other room.”  I almost always have to get up at that point and go kiss your head.

•       Honey pie.  A diet of donuts, chocolate chip granola bars, eggs, graham crackers, rice with “wet” (soy sauce), applesauce, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without crust, mack and roni "bugs," noodles with Dad’s sauce, chips, crackers, chocolate cereal, chicken nuggets, French fries, candy, deli turkey slices (not the Cajun kind), popcorn, cupcakes, cake, cookies, pie, and ice cream … AIN’T BALANCED.

•       Night-Night is Nasty and your dad has been cutting little pieces of it away at night while you sleep.  Please know, sweet:  I have been begging him not to throw it all away while I saw wood.   Last night, as you and I were lying in your bed talking about how fun your birthday party was, you said, “I broke Night-Night.  I broke his arm.”  I said, “I didn’t know Night-Night had arms.  Does he have legs too?”  After a pause, you said, “Well, he has … ONE.”  (I about peed my pants.) 
  
•            I always tell you that you are my “best” (because you told me that once, I reciprocated, and it has stuck).  The other night, in an effort not to seem too biased, I told you that you are my best and John is my favorite.  You looked at me right in the eyes and said with such conviction: “That’s just not true.”

Part 3:  Eight Reasons I Know These Things (4 x 4 = 8)

• You ARE picking up on everything.  There is a phrase that says, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”  Apparently, you already have your own version of this … if you can’t explain to them, LISTEN & COMMENT.  
  

• Maybe you DO make your own “good notes,” yet your mother sees this as an ability to recognize your own strengths and ignore weaknesses.  Someday you shall have a fabulous resume.  
  

• You could do WAY better at using soap.  Trust me, love:  You do NOT want to get pinworms.  

• You ARE sneaking candy in your room.  You can keep doing that until I'm dead.  There are much worse things you could sneak. 

• We DO crack up at your boxer/briefs.  Honestly, Bubby, they’re hilarious – tiny yet covered in large machinery such as tractors, diggers, and back-hoe loaders.
  

• Your diet DOES leave something to be desired.  Please try some baked fish at least.  
  

• Night-Night IS nasty. But I swear to you that I will not let your dad hack it all away.  I will keep some portion of it (in a smell-proof Ziploc bag).  
  

• As hard as it is, it’s best if you learn this now … everybody’s “BEST” is relative, sweet Sam:  Even mine.  You are my best (favorite?)  at many things (e.g., snuggling, pleasing, noticing), but John is also my best (favorite?) too (e.g., eating, arguing, wondering).  My love is a like a Thanksgiving pie ... and I will always have enough pie (and love) for both you and your brother.  I’m not good at math lovey, but I know this:  My love for y’all can only be multiplied, never divided. 

Those are some things I have wanted to say to you for awhile now, Love.  I have this idea that you will read and understand them better later than you could now, but then again, I have trouble balancing a checkbook and often go left at intersections for no obvious reason. 

Everyone loves you Bamsy ...

But especially ME.

XOX,
Mama

Because red hair.

A Treatise Against The Pointing Out of Reddish Hair

Several times a year, someone points out to me some aspect of the underlying red nature of my hair.  And it is never positive.  (It’s also usually not overtly negative, but hear a girl out.) 

Today someone I had just met said, “I like to meet redheads. My wife is a redhead.”

Cue the angels’ harmonic, “Ahhhhhhh!!”

Because most times.

(Note:  Today I read an article about how the word “because” is becoming prepositional and is often followed by nouns.  Only nouns.  Because evolution.)

Most times the recognition of red hints in my hair is at least indirectly negative.

And of course I’m sure, quite sure, that these sayers of hurtful half thoughts are well meaning.

Because human nature.

However.

My ears change good intentions (or at least not-well-thought-out intentions) into accusations.

Because Kimberly.

Here are a few examples:

At the closing on my first home, previous owner says, “Oh no.  Another redhead in that house.”

At work:  “Did you know that your hair gets redder when you’re fired up?”

At department store:  “I know you probably think you’re pale, but the reddish hair makes up for it.”

Newsflash:  If I am truly redheaded, then Miley Cyrus is only a mildly toxic role model for young girls.

Because y’all.

You would never say to someone with gray hair:  “Oh no, another geriatric in the house.”

So, can we please stop the discrimination against angry, temperamental redheads?

Because fairness.

Because if you don’t have something nice to say.

Because fear (of redheaded retaliation).

Because there.

Because I’m done.

Because as you were and onward and upward and sideways and all that.