If we were to be graded this year on our ability to prepare and deliver birthday gifts in a timely fashion, we would be receiving a big fat F, as in ‘Frankly, You’re Incompetent’
So guess what, oh lovely Mother-in-Law of mine? Your proxy gift will maybe, hopefully, and with any kind of luck be delivered on your actual birthday. (We salute you, Mr. Overnight Shipping Inventor.) As for your real gift? Umm yeah, on backorder. And as for the sweet little video of Stella singing you Happy Birthday, followed by Porter’s screaming refusal to participate? That would be trapped on the camera because we opted to use the other video camera. The video camera that we just realized does not have the appropriate cabling to fit either one of our computers. See? Incompetent.
Basically, what I am saying here is that your stand-in gift might be arriving on time, and the only video I could retrieve is this one taken a couple of days back with Porter doing his Ramones version of the ABC’s.
Today, you turn two years old. And in this – your second year – we have had much to celebrate. In my best estimation, it was an In Like a Lion, Out Like an Ill-Tempered Housecat kind of year for us. We were finally able to rediscover sleep, sleep, happy sleep, and found ourselves no longer dangling you at arm’s length each time you hiccuped – for fear that we would be drenched in a shower of puke. You had tubes put in to alleviate your “glue ear” and in the last two months you were able to finally push through those nasty two-year molars. Check, check annnnnd check.
And so, with all the physical stuff finding equilibrium, we are left with just the screaming.
But you know what else we are left with? The cute. The talking. The singing. The jumping and the joke telling. And in the last couple of months, it is as though your developmental process ignited its turbo-boosters. I am starting to get a sinking feeling that it won’t be long before you and your sister will no longer be independent units of crazy, but will instead unite and create an impenetrable front of crazy that will be the source of my total undoing.
Your language development is coming at a frightening pace, yet still tends revolve around a growing pool of verb commands – most ending in an exclamation point, or seven. (Wahn To!, Hab It! Do It!), and your father continues to perpetuate this process by speaking to you like a caveman. It is only a matter of time before the two of you are referring to each other as Duuuuude. Which brings up that other thing: You are a boy. As in, not a girl. And although this seems rather obvious and lacking in need of description, it is actually huge. Everyone is quick to point out what they consider to be typical boy behavior, yet I really have had no idea what to expect. And you have not disappointed. You are a total cuddler, my affectionate little creature who would sit on my lap for the better part of a day if I let you. You don’t watch TV – it holds little interest to you, and no matter how much I have begged you to lounge in front of a movie so I can get something done, you are completely disinterested. I have mentioned that car/truck/tractor thing about once or fifty times now, and it truly is the most stereotypical “boy” thing you do. But, it had nothing to do with us, and everything to do with your titanium reinforced will. Distracting you is only useful about half the time, and more recently we have gone back to spelling things so that we don’t inadvertently remind you of that thing we just spent an hour trying to make you forget. Like every time we try to wash your precious blanket. You, my son, have actually stood in front of the washer screaming for the entire duration of a wash cycle.
And Porter, I don’t really know how else to say this except well, in this house, the OCD doesn’t fall far from the tree. You have inherited unmistakable aspects of your dad’s doorknob touching tendencies. You refuse to wear your shirt if it gets wet, clawing and screaming at it, until we remove the garment, as it is obviously eating off your skin. Another gem that has surfaced recently is that because of your 4 new molars, you have become a hydrant of drool, and while sucking your thumb, you’ll realize that your entire forearm is wet with drool. It is at this point that you’ll usually hold up your thumb and say, “Finger wet.” Indicating that we need to dry it off for you. And then I look at your father and make that face that says, “I’m not gonna say it.”
Your relationship with your sister in many ways is exactly the same as it has always been. You love her, because it just wouldn’t ever occur to you that there is any other option – except of course, to be venomously irate at her. In this way, you two have become so very sibling-like. Within seconds of separating you two from a fight where I am certain that one of you is going to lose an ear, I will hear you calling, “Telllllla! Tellllllla!” because the thought of not being right there doing exactly what she is doing is unfathomable to you. You copy her every move, but still become insanely jealous when she is on my lap. It is only recently that I have been able to convince you that you both can sit there at the same time. That is, until I eject you both for fighting.
Although I have spent many a post enumerating all the ways you have fine tuned the art of screaming, I don’t think there is a website big enough to accommodate all of the cute. It is of monumental scale – this cute of yours. I see it every day – in everything you do, when you say peeez and kee-koo (please and thank you), in the way that you say ummmm before answering a question, in your belly laugh, and in your sweet thumb-sucking, blanket carrying self.
Happy Birthday, little man.
Love,
Mom
The setup:
The original version of this joke (as told by your sister): Knock, Knock | Who’s There? | Squirrel. | Squirrel Who? | Squirrel’s looking for you because he thinks you’re nuts!
I know you are all sitting around waiting for me to finally get my butt in gear and post the sordid details from Holiday Season 2007. And you know what? So am I. I have most of the photos off my card, and have been loading them onto Flickr, set, by tedious set. However, based on the current reading on the Walston Motivation-o-Meter, a -5 isn’t really going to get you much. At this pace, it is probably going to be St. Patrick’s day before I get around to telling you about the obscene meal Steve concocted for his birthday dinner (hot dogs, wrapped in pastrami, smothered in 100-Island dressing, covered in a slice of cheese and toasted under a broiler), or until I am able to recount the steady stream of gift opening and food digesting that defined Christmas.
But the truth of the matter is that along with recovering from the holiday, and everything that entails, Steve and I both have had a hard time embracing that perky new year’s outlook. For both of us, work has been very emotionally draining, causing us to come home each day and threaten to quit everything and finally open that kitchen store. Neither one of us has been able to get back onto our exercise routine, and our commitment to quality parenting has been marginal, at best. Cereal for dinner, anyone? It hasn’t helped matters that we are now at week 14 waiting for a very expensive new bed frame that was supposed to have been delivered in 6-8 weeks. Follow that up with this little gem from Tuesday, and I guess you could say that although we are 9 days into our new year we are just not yet feeling the 2008 love. And have I mentioned the 7 consecutive days of storms that have knocked out the power twice?
Although we are feeling like we have started the new year with a thud, there have been some moments to help me keep perspective that not being able to return a pair of shoes isn’t exactly the end of the world. Like, finding out that a childhood friend died over the holidays. She was just 35 years old. She had been diagnosed with a partially in-operable brain tumor during the summer between our freshman and sophomore year, and continued to battle with it’s various complications throughout her life. Although we had not maintained a friendship through our adult lives, it was still painful news to hear. I felt especially sad for her mother, who had also recently lost her husband. Parents should not ever have to outlive their children.
Also, for the first time in recent memory, I can recognize and appreciate that all four members of our immediate family are simultaneously illness-free. No colds, no throwing up, no mysterious coughs and/or persistent runny noses, no ear infections, no sinus infections, no croup, no reflux, no antibiotics, no prescription antacids. After spending the last 4 years living with one, then two little germ factories – susceptible to any virus within a 10-mile radius – I realize the true miracle of this phenomenon. Now, if we could just cure The Angry.
I am sure that slowly, we will begin to find our 2008 mojo, and we can begin to focus on the important things, like how I am going to accrue the remaining 6 purse points to buy that yummy brown leather bag I have been eyeing since before Christmas. [You can imagine that this system – devised and scored by Steve – is rife with corruption and irregularity. However, I am confident that I can prevail.]
Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time for me to go get on the treadmill…which is exactly why I am instead going to get a giant bowl of ice cream and sit on the couch and watch the E! Channel.
Well Sis, you know we would really have loved to help you celebrate your big three-oh, alas, all you’ll be getting from us this year is a giant bucket of disappointment, served up with a healthy helping of Biblical-scale storms. We are thinking of you, and hoping that you have a fun and memorable 30th birthday, followed up by one, big, kick-ass honeymoon in Australia. We promise to have something wonderful waiting for you upon your triumphant return from the land of kangaroos and giant cans of beer.
As for today, we’ll be sure and have a round in your honor, and reminisce fondly of the 30 years I have spent emotionally and physically torturing you. Congratulations on 30 years of survival. That’s my birthday message to you.
And here, you have Stella singing you her own special version of Feliz Cumpleanos, along with Porter’s typically uncooperative accompaniment. At least you get an “I love you” out of him at the end. I hope you understand the relevance here, as he won’t do that for just anyone. HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY, CELENE!
Oh, and as for Steve’s special birthday commentary: Rock and Rolllllll! (sung in falsetto)
If there was one thing that Stella’s 4th birthday made clear, it was that this girl will not be pigeon-holed. When you see the pictures of her dressed in her princess gear playing veterinarian you’ll understand why. Label her as tomboy or girly at your own risk.
It’s almost ridiculous how amazingly wonderful the weather is for this girl’s birthday each year. It was chilly but sunny, and we had such an amazing turnout that Steve had to do last-minute triage on the party favors so we would have enough to go around. I know that in reality everyone just wanted to see, up-close, this property after all the dire and freakish descriptions I have given on this website.
After last year’s cake debacle, we had to think long and hard how we were going to get this girl a cake that was actually edible and worth looking at. So we did what any red-blooded American would do, and we bought one at Costco. And can I just say that this cake was like taking a new pair of shoes and wrapping them in diamonds, then dipping that in chocolate. YES, THAT GOOD. 6 pound chocolate cake, indeed. Once I picked it out, I begged the lady at the pastry counter to write on it for me, then gave Stella an entire bottle of multi-colored sprinkles, and handful of maraschino cherries and told her to accessorize to her heart’s content. This is what I call win-win.