As you may have noticed, I have been conspicuously absent lately. At best, I can manage to throw a photo up here and there, but when it comes to putting word to page, I have been either distracted, unable to write a sentence worth reading, or just plain exhausted. At the pace that my life is moving right now, I am expecting Stella to come ask me for the car keys in about a day or two.

This realization has hit me like an aluminum bat to the back of the head about a dozen times in the last couple weeks: Stella is growing up. And not just the already-wears-a-size-4 kind of growing up, but the no-longer-an-anger-management-poster-child kind of growing up. Our lives have such insane momentum right now, it is often hard to get perspective of the big picture. I have seen little things here and there that make me hopeful we are turning the proverbial corner with Stella, but it wasn’t until this morning – while dropping her off at school – that I realized the transition that is afoot.

Over the last week or so, Stella has gotten into the routine of crying as I leave her at school in the morning. I get the sense that she gets over it pretty quickly, and for the most part, does it out of a sense of routine. Then, this morning I saw something I have never seen before. She stood at the window, waved her sweet little hand and conjured every ounce of energy she could muster in trying not to cry. I watched her chin quiver and her eyes well up ever so slightly, but refrained from her usual bellowing of “Nooooo, Mamaaaaa” as I left. Just pure and total determination that she would not cry – not this time. Now, I have seen Stella exert control over her emotional response about as many times as I have seen a unicorn gallop through our backyard. Watching her brave little face made me want to cry. That is the second time she has done this to me in a matter of weeks.

I have seen these little moments more and more these days, and have also started realizing that although the trials and tribulations of our transition to life as a family of four is far from over, we have at least hurdled the first jump. Granted, we tripped over it, dragged it and skinned all of our knees and elbows in the process. But it’s a start. For instance, Stella started calling her brother Port. We don’t call him that. And usually, pretty much every funny or quirky thing we hear come out of her mouth can be somehow traced back to something that we say. Like when I winked at her across the table at dinner the other night and without missing a beat, she looks at me, scrunches up her face to one side and says, “Arrrg, Me Matey!” Hmm, I wonder where she would have picked that up?

In going through all of this craziness over the last 5 months, I have also marveled at how nature, in all of her wisdom, has dealt us the ultimate hand. The yin and yang of our two children is almost frightening. Stella oozes energy from every pore in her body. She is constantly on the go, inquisitive and irrepressable. Porter is – as Celene so aptly put it – “so chill!” He can sit in his office for what seems an eternity, watching his sister scamper and gyrate around the kitchen. It is common for him to sit there, transfixed on her every move: back, forth, back forth, up down. He waits patiently in his car-seat while I de-sand Stella each day after school (I swear, I could send that kid to school in a HazMat suit and she would still come home with a bucket’s worth in her hair and shoes.), and has given me the most amazing gift of all: the ability to be put into his bed, awake, and fall asleep on his own. It is such a wonderful thing that I don’t even hassle him about the fact that he still won’t give us a full night’s sleep.

I guess what I am saying is that, although still hectic and harried, life has gotten a tiny bit more stable. We all seem to be enjoying each other rather than just being exasperated by one another. And for this, I am eternally thankful.