Happy 4th Birthday, Porter!

Posted on April 17, 2010 by Natalie

Hey Buddy,

Happy 4th Birthday! I am not even joking when I say that you being this big seemed like about 10 minutes ago. And all of a sudden we are here. At four.

This year spilleth over with awesomeness. And fun. And learning. And cuteness. And screaming. Still with the screaming. But I am getting ahead of myself…

Over the course of the past year, your father and I have compromised and caved and negotiated and just plain given in in ways we never thought was humanly possible. Why do I bring this up? Basically, I need to make clear that although well-meaning and chock full of effort, your father and I have done little more than provide gentle guidance and kept you away from sharp objects. And when it comes to your more major accomplishments of the past year, we are able to take credit for NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THEM. I can pretty much only lay claim to the fact that we kept you fed, clothed and periodically intervened to keep you from harming the occasional passers-by.

Let’s take for example potty training. As of this year, you are officially and completely D to the O to the N to the E. Done, baby. Why? Because one day you just woke up and decided as much. Period. End of story. Although I made a very conscious effort to not over-negotiate this issue, we reached a couple of stages where I REALLY wanted to help nudge things along. HAH. Double HAH! Will I ever learn? Probably not.

Academically, things are really starting to take off. You have begun the early stages of reading books, which generally consists of asking us to read you the same book about 57 times in a row, memorizing it, then read it to us as though you had just discovered sliced bread. I remember Stella doing this, and how exciting it was to see such a huge transitional step in both aptitude and interest. Along with the reading is also the writing. You still hold a pencil as though you are trying to strangle out it’s last breath, but you are able to form somewhat decipherable letters and have been doing some pretty impressive work with the stencil set at your school. (To clarify: the stencil that fits perfectly over an 8 1/2 X 11 page and not that ridiculous and confusing one that spilled over the edges of the paper – the one that drives you to waves of rage – what were those people thinking?) What is really starting to come into focus, however, is your firm grasp of numbers. You, are repeatedly holding up your fingers and counting different ways to add up various values. Last night you counted up three separate combinations adding up to the number 8. Whereas your sister is practically reading novels at age 6, you will no-doubt have mastered your times-tables by the time you reach Kindergarten.

Often times when I am trying to keep you occupied when we are out and about, or just at home and I need to keep you from climbing the walls, I’ll give you my little point-and-shoot camera and let you snap pictures to your heart’s content. It has even gotten to the point where whenever we go to a doctor’s office you immediately begin rummaging around in my purse so you can start taking pictures (see: Trigger Word discussion in upcoming paragraph). I finally downloaded a whole set of them and after some minor tweaking and editing I think you might be ready for your first gallery installation.

(click photo to see entire set)

Health-wise, we have had a pretty good run of it this year. Your ear tubes are almost completely out – one is out entirely, and the other we are trying to irrigate out with daily ear rinses of hydrogen peroxide. A ritual that is quickly losing it’s luster – no matter how many fanciful treats or outings I promise you. You are turning out to be insanely coordinated and quite a good dancer, I might add. I am still so completely amazed at how your body is growing into such a distinctively male physique. You have defined little arm muscles, a narrow waist, and one of the most adorably pinchable butts on the planet. I know, eww gross.

Moving on. Let’s talk a little about the Trigger Word, shall we? Myself, your father, the director of your pre-school and even your sister have become acutely fine-tuned to the land-mine we now refer to as The Trigger Word. The best way to sum this up is to say that our household lives as though we are trapped in an If You Give A Mouse A Cookie book. All we have to do is inadvertently utter one seemingly innocuous word or phrase and the next thing we know we have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be interrupted without risk of gallons of screaming. Everything in your brain has an association pattern: that certain kind of granola bar can only be eaten after you have carried it in that one backpack, or that pair of shorts can only be worn with that specific shirt and THEN you only wear THAT combination to school, but NEVER on NON-school days, and on and on and on it goes. There are rules and sequences and patterns and expectations that, coupled with iron-willed determination means that mentioning the Trigger Word is one of the highest offenses one can commit in this household.

Admittedly, I have spent countless opportunities whimpering about your intensity level always being cranked up to def-con bazillion, I am however starting to become more contemplative about your temperament and what it all means in the scope of my parenting world. Our mantra over the last year or so has been: Whatever It Takes. Basically, we spend a lot of time herding you through the emotional hurricane – just getting all of us to the other side, even if it means compromising beyond any reasonable expectation. Even Stella has realized the futility of trying to win on principle. And that is saying a lot.

More and more lately, however, we are trying to recognize those moments where we can take a stand, and hold you accountable for your own actions. But one of the biggest things we also have to do is figure out who you are. That might sound a little or even a lot strange, but really, the way I see it, toddlers are just cute little people with crazy suits on. Underneath all that crazy is you. So what we are trying to figure out is what part is the crazy suit and what part we are going to have to negotiate for the long haul. I have a feeling your intensity and drive are going to be something we will reckon with forever. But I have to wonder if some of this volatility will fall away over the course of time. Did I say wonder? I meant hope-and-pray-with-every-fiber-of-my-entire-being.

Because you know what Porter? You are awesome. And no matter how much I harp on The Angry, there is so much of The Cute that I can’t even begin to describe. This Cute of yours brings us joy and fun and silliness. And it is this counter-weight that keeps us all from the brink of insanity.

And if all that isn’t proof of how far we have come, this year you actually touched a horse! Voluntarily! Without Screaming! Score one for the P-Dog!

Happy Birthday Sweet Boy.
I love you,
Mom

Happy 6th Birthday, Stella Marie

Posted on December 9, 2009 by Natalie

Dear Stella,
Today you turn 6. Six years old, baby!

Geez, I don’t even know where to begin. Although my blogging seems to have all but skidded to a halt this year, I do think I managed to capture some of the highlights. Like the ear piercing! the soccer! the no-training-wheels-required bike riding! the endless string of lost teeth! the skiing! And as if that wasn’t enough, there was also the highly anticipated entry into Kindergarten!

And, um, since we are on the subject of Kindergarten, there’s something I need to tell you. Stella, it was recently determined that you will be passing go, collecting your $200, and advancing straight to 1st grade. As of January. Um, so yeah.

Last year I bemoaned our struggle with whether or not to start you early, but once the decision was finally decided I began the slow process of reconciling it with myself that waiting the extra year would certainly afford many benefits. No need to rush, right?

So, I strolled into the first parent-teacher conference confident that I would hear about my taller than average Kindergartner who happened to be a pretty awesome reader. Instead, it was patiently and delicately explained to me that my Kindergartner had no business being in Kindergarten. Huh?

Our 20 minute conference turned into an hour-long discussion, and the next thing I knew I was looking at your teacher with that are-you-saying-what-I-think-you’re-saying? look – making me want to do nothing more than sprint from the room to text your father: THEY WANT HER IN THE 1ST GRADE! BY JANUARY!

As it was explained to me, you are the sole person in your class who has either the inclination or aptitude to sit down with a chapter book and quietly read it cover to cover. You jump rope. Up the driveway. Backwards. While the rest of your class is sounding out the words bat and cat, and clapping along with the alphabet, you are usually seated at an adjacent table writing a story about how to roast a turkey or working word problems, or doing the teacher’s taxes. Okay, not really that last part. But almost.

All I keep thinking is A.) how in the heck did this happen, and B.) I think I need to find myself a support group, because at the pace you are setting, you will be smarter than me by the time you reach the 3rd grade.

So, the class of 2021 it is.

Much to your father’s delight, you also spend a healthy amount of your off-time honing your dramatic female side. Back of hand to forehead. Good. Now eye roll. Annnnd, finish it off with a stompy-pouty-FINE-I’LL-JUST-STAY-IN-MY-ROOM-FOREVER! flourish. Excellent. Now, step-ball-change, and Ta-Da! Oy, we are going to be so in for it with you.

Thankfully, you channel the remaining amount of your energies into being a complete and total science nerd. It has reached the point where you are regularly schooling me on the finer points of all matters related to the animal kingdom and their habitats. I had an extensive debate with you the other night about whether or not a particular sea creature was a mollusk – which you won. Whatev. I get to stay up past 8:00. Top that, Smarty McSmartson!

And no birthday post would be complete without proper attribution to your role as a big sister. And I can – with sincere honesty – say that you are the purest and most perfect embodiment of Big Sister genetic coding. The relationship you share with your brother is the ultimate in sibling cliché. You split your time evenly between loving each other and trying to throw one another into traffic.

Right now, we are in the early stages of moving you each into your own rooms. Something I have been toying with ever since we moved here. And to be perfectly honest, it has less to do with the two of you needing privacy and personal space, as much as it does our need to better utilize the limited space in this house. You two are literally spilling out of that bedroom while there is a perfectly decent empty bedroom right next door.

Although you are both pretty excited at the prospect of having your very own bedroom, I know the reality of sleeping by yourselves will not come easy to either one of you. Neither of you ever complain about having to share a room with one another, and I will be very interested to see which one of you ends up in the other’s room at night.

So here we are. Embarking on year 6. If these first 5 have been any indication, you are going to continue to pick up speed in a way that makes me wonder how we are going to be able to keep up. Our conversations are getting more poignant, and your awareness of the world around you makes me always have to be on my A-game. You don’t miss much, always absorbing what you see, what you hear, what you read. And just as you are growing and changing, so am I. You continue to challenge me to be my better self. And, I just hope, Stella, I can always do the same for you.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl!
Much Love,
Mom

Happy 3rd Birthday, Porter!

Posted on April 22, 2009 by Natalie

Hey Porter,
(AKA: Buddy, Bub, Little Man, Little Dude, McGoo, P-Dog, P-Man, Little P)

We just made it through the celebratory grandeur of your 3rd birthday and Hoo Boy! Has this year been a big ‘un. I don’t even know where to begin. And if you think for even one teeny, tiny minute that I am going to let you off easy on this one, you are sorely mistaken my cherubic little ball of three-ness.

Let’s start with the good news, shall we?

We are all somehow still alive. And together. In one house. And no one has lost an eye. (but almost)

Now on to the news that more accurately portrays the last year of our lives together. The part where we talk about The Cute, The Angry, and everything in between. The part where I am brutally honest about the times I have felt compelled to scold your father about the fact that my eggs were perfectly happy hanging out on their own until his sperm came along, and about those extra ~~fifty~~ bottles of wine that were required to get me through the year, and about how you have completely negated any learning curve I may have conquered with your sister. My parenting to-date has taught me that the line separating sublime happiness and complete and utter agony is honestly so thin it is virtually invisible.

Whereas last year you found your voice, this year you found your words. The Angry is now accompanied by a running dialogue that uses words such as I-HATE-IT-I-HATE-IT-I-HATE-IT or my personal favorite – the booty wiggling, hands-on-hips, NAH-Nah-NAH-Nah-NAH-NAHHHHH song. Your execution on that one is spot-on. Honestly and truly though, your vocabulary is quite remarkable, and I can understand why – you don’t have much of a choice if you want to keep up in this family where it’s not just the words but the volume and speed with which you can deliver them that really matters most. In that way – you have risen to the occasion quite masterfully. But even more than the nuts and bolts of learning how to effectively communicate, there are those fleeting parts that years from now I will struggle to remember, like how you add ‘es’ to just about anything as a form of plural (sheepses, instrumentses, bikeses) and when you call a smoothie a poozie. Priceless.

With your new-found communication tools, comes the ability to have those kinds of conversations that history is made of. The subject of anatomy has come up off-and-on with your sister for some time now. Like that time in the bathtub when she complained that it wasn’t fair that you had a long vagina (that was only after she stopped calling it a tail). You, however have taken it upon yourself to not only understand, but educate. You have had recurrent conversations with your father about likeness and size comparisons, and without hesitation proceeded to inform your teachers at day care about the penis/vagina ratio of the student population – going around the circle articulating who had what. Mommy’s little census taker.

And while we are on the subject of those parts let’s just go ahead and get this whole potty training thing out there on the table right now. Or more accurately, let’s talk about how you have shown me yet again how little control I will ever have as a parent. I was completely fine letting this thing ride. I know about the whole boys-are-slower-than-girls thing, and about the second-kid-tends-to-take-longer part. It’s all good. But I am starting to feel like you should at least be kinda sorta maybe just a little bit interested. Nope. The best way I could describe it is that you are taunting me. One minute I am offering candy and big-boy underwear and being rebuffed with a plain and simple shake of the head; the next minute you are locking yourself in the bathroom and peeing and pooping all by yourself. Then right back to insisting I put a diaper on you. I get it son, you are calling the shots.

Same has gone for haircuts – the on-again, off-again way in which I have been able to negotiate the most simple of grooming practices. And the same for clothes – and the ridiculous rituals we must go through just to get you dressed (and keep you dressed, for that matter). You have no interest whatsoever in making it easy. Ever.

If I were to pick one thing that actually works (at least about 80% of the time), I’d say it’s bedtime. We have somehow managed to maintain a feeble grasp on that one. And I guess I’d say we are due, considering there was the better part of a year where you wouldn’t give us more than 2 hours sleep at a time. You are actually turning out to be a pretty good sleeper, and I have to admit, I find it sweet and comforting when you shuffle into our bedroom at night and want to climb into our bed. With your sister, this was never an option. It was a hard and fast rule that she would be shuttled back to her bed – the reasons were various, but the biggest one had to do with the fact that her sleeping resembled stationary cycling. You on the other hand, are a great cuddler and I find it to be one of the rare occasions when I get the opportunity – and will most likely continue to indulge it as long as I can (college notwithstanding).

And, that sweet boy, is the thing that I have started to realize with increasing nostalgia. This is it. You are my baby and you aren’t a baby. You are a boy. A pre-schooling, counting, own-name-spelling, I-can-do-it-myself-yelling little guy who embodies not one single trace of toddler or baby. I love that and I hate that. I am sad, but also excited. It reminds me yet again that no matter how trying these times are, I only get them once, and I had better not wish us past them, lest I lose them forever.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy.

Love,
Mom

The Sagittarius and The Capricorn

Posted on December 14, 2008 by Natalie

Last weekend’s birthday festivities turned out to be a non-stop, action-packed gauntlet of celebratory chaos. We opted for a change of venue for this year considering Steve and Stella were both hitting one of those multiple-of-five birthdays. Essentially, we didn’t think we already had enough going on during the busiest and most expensive month of the year, and wanted to really feel the burn. We set up a schedule that went a little like this: Saturday was the visit to the SF Academy of Sciences, Sunday was the official Princess and Pirate celebration and Monday was the day for Steve and I to schlep into the city to participate in Nerdapalooza.

At the last possible moment I was actually able to get my hands on the gift for Steve that I had been coveting for weeks – a vintage Apple Think Different poster featuring one of Steve’s favorite nerds, Richard Feynman. A gift whose procurement required the kind of time, money and patience that had better earn me a gold-plated pedestal in the Awesome Wife Hall of Fame. Stella’s gifts were numerous, as usual – but it was our particular choice of gift this year that got us the most confused glances. We bought her a karaoke machine. And when you see the pictures you will understand why we chose to sacrifice our sanity over her sublime happiness.

A huge thank you to the family (and friends) for all their various contributions of time, money, travel fatigue and overall stamina. I know of two Walstons, in particular, who really appreciated it.

Happy 5th Birthday, Stella!

Posted on December 12, 2008 by Natalie

Dear Stelly,

This week, you turned 5. Five. Years. Old.

It is exciting, nostalgic, almost surreal to realize that it has come this far this quickly. I don’t want to be the cliché mom who tells you how it all went by so fast, but IT ALL WENT BY SO FAST! I am torn between missing your tiny little fingers & nuzzle-riffic bald head, and being excited that you and I can sort out an emotional upheaval by talking about our feelings. It is so easy to get caught up in wishing through some of the tough stages (cough, your brother right now), and being able to appreciate the great things despite the chaos. It has taken me the better part of 5 years to be able to put this into practice, but I am also in the great position of realizing that your challenging moments these days are manageable and understood and realistic. I guess what I am trying to say, Stella, is that you have rounded the bend between todder/girl to full on girl. And it escapes words to relate how amazingly awesome that is.

So, about Kindergarten. This year we decided that you are going to wait the extra year, and officially become a member of the class of 2022. Although this was a difficult decision to make, we realized in the end that it had its fair share of upsides. First and foremost it will give us that whole extra year to replenish all of the college tuition we have heretofore squandered on beer and fancy shoes. And even though we explored all of our options, even going so far as to have you evaluated at the school you will eventually be attending, my gut has always told me to wait. What is the rush? I just can’t reconcile in my mind how being catapulted into college a year earlier could be considered some kind of blessing. Oh, and if you can’t tell from my subtle references here: you are going to college, even if we have to sell your father’s blood to do it.

And speaking of educational prowess, this is officially the year you began reading – and are able to do it with frightfully increasing ease. Although this is primarily an issue I find positive and exciting, it is also making my job a bit harder, as noted when I try to paraphrase books or shield your sweet young eyes from the inappropriate terminology and concepts included in the average greeting card. It is becoming more difficult to get anything past you these days. You listen more intently and absorb the world around you like a gigantic reef sponge. I have to watch everything from the words I say to the songs I listen to. And although your writing skills are improving daily (recent quote: “hey mom, remember when I was three and I used to make my A like a Q?”) your writing still does resemble that of the average ransom note, with letters all cattywhompus across the page, and an eclectic mix of upper and lower case typography.

This would be the part where I discuss those things that irrefutably qualify you as your father’s daughter. Don’t get me wrong, your brother will defniitely be the one writing the book on what it means to be Mr. Doorknob Toucher, Jr., however you have inherited many of the exquisitely profound qualities that make it undeniably clear that your father gifted unto you a healthy dose of DNA. There is the obvious physiology – including height and cheeks and athletic prowess (you started soccer this year and rocked it), but there is also the ability to see and think and understand. Your conception and interpretation of numbers and logic are constantly baffling me. I know adults who can’t tabulate with your speed and accuracy. Girls aren’t good at math, my ass.

Which leads me to our relationship. Let me just get this out there right now: the things that drive me the craziest about you are the things that I can most closely identify with my own personality. There. I said it. No, I am not trying to take some demented sort of credit for this, or tell you how you are just like me but rather, I have come to the harsh reality that each and every time you do something outrageous and emotional and instinctive and reactionary I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE FEELING. All those times that your exuberance overrides your rational response? Been there. All those times I have asked you, “why did you do that?” I ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER. But this is also my angle. My ability to understand you and do everything in my power to make you understand that I understand. Because Stella, I really do.

You are growing into the most cool and unique and completely typical kid I know. You possess an equal affection for the gross and scientific as you do for the frilly and pink. Your 5th birthday party was a healthy dose of Princess with a side helping of turtles. You put malt vinegar on your corndogs and insist that the crust be cut off your sandwiches. You buckle yourself in and wash your own hair, but can’t manage to gather the courage to go to the bathroom by yourself. Your duplicity is what I find to be one of your most charming qualities because it shows me that you aren’t afraid to just be you. And as a mom, I couldn’t wish for anything more.

Happy birthday, sweet girl.
Love,
Mom

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Category Archives: Birthdays

Happy 4th Birthday, Porter!

Happy 6th Birthday, Stella Marie

Happy 3rd Birthday, Porter!

The Sagittarius and The Capricorn

Happy 5th Birthday, Stella!