Happy 5th Birthday, Porter!

Posted on April 17, 2011 by Natalie

Dear Porter,

Today you turn 5 years old. And at this point I think I’m going to suggest you grab some juice, your blanket and thumb, and sit a spell – because this could take a while.

First, I want to tidy up a little unfinished business in regards to losing your first tooth. I am pretty much the worst mom ever for not properly commemorating such a ridiculously huge occasion. I posted a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it link over on Twitter, but other than that it slipped by without even a word.

Naturally, it was a pretty big deal for all of us, and it was an emotional sucker punch to me to realize that you – MAH BABY! – had a loose tooth. What!? How did this happen? You aren’t old enough to lose a tooth! Not possible! No way! And yet there I stood, watching as all of your 4 1/2 years caught up with me in a single moment.

When it came to the actual tooth losing, you followed a virtually identical sequence of events as your sister: you wiggled it incessantly over the course of the next 24 hours until it was hanging on by a microscopic thread of gumline – the whole time insistent that you could not, WOULD NOT, pull it out. Until you did….

As for some of the other more notable developmental milestones this year, you got up on skis for the first time, managed to get pretty handy with a pencil, taught yourself how to whistle!! and have begun to read.

As for those things that need to be recorded for the sake of posterity and future good-natured ribbing, there are the following:

You are a hoarder. There is no delicate way to put this. A ongoing and seemingly endless stream of items are collected and stored in specified, non-negotiable locations throughout your room. I have managed, on some periodic stealth missions, to sweep your room of all the little sticks, rocks, bark, paper, plastic, but have been less successful in a more comprehensive purge. I fought all urges to buy you a shopping cart for your birthday this year.

With one or two exceptions, you have continued to hold firm on your shorts-only policy. You have managed to turn our dining room into a sweat shop wherein I have had to slave over the sewing machine altering countless shirts of yours from long sleeved to short-sleeved. I have reached the point now where I have threatened everyone within an inch of their lives if they event think of buying you a long-sleeved shirt, and I have resorted to just hacking the sleeves off pajama tops without even bothering to hem them…because I am classy that way. After about a year of refusing to wear socks, you finally decided it was time to give them a try again. And I’ll be the first to go on the record saying that they look quite stylish pulled up snugly to your knees.

I’m happy to report that we have spent a good portion of this year unraveling the mystery heretofore known as The Cute and The Angry (referenced here, here, here and here, oh and here). After much household unrest, we made up our minds that we would set out on the mission of finding ourselves an expert. So, after a couple of meetings and a covert observation mission staged at your preschool, The Child Whisperer (as I refer to her ) began guiding us through the process of decoding your personality. First came a vocabulary list of words: temperament, adaptability, intensity, empathy. Then came the strategies, all of which go a little something like this: When faced with a difficult situation, think through the list of all possible reactions. Now, on that list identify the most unintuitive and instinctively opposite option. Okay, now do that one.

So we worked at it. Sometimes it was a ridiculous mess, but guess what? Sometimes, it actually worked. And somehow, through all this listening and talking and talking and listening, we found some harmony. Yes, I just used the word harmony in relation to our family – yes, you heard me right, I said harmony. Then, high on the aroma of success, I attended a 6-week parenting group that not only allowed me some comiseration, but also brought in some other literature to draw from. And lo and behold, MORE HARMONY!

Let me be clear: we are still loud and messy with our crazy leaking out the seams and over the edges, and there is still plenty of screaming and foot pounding and 4:00-cocktail-needing. BUT, our correction-cycle of meltdown to problem-solving has shortened considerably. Which, in our world is like winning the gold medal of parenting.

You are getting ready to head off to Kindergarten this fall and we are all left scratching our heads at how all this happened so fast. There is part of me that is nervous, and yet another part of me knows that you will do great. You are spooky smart. There is no mincing words on this one. However, each and every one of us in this family comes with quirks. Your dad is a doorknob toucher and I am an intolerant bossypants. Your sister is, um, how do I put this delicately? Precocious? Yes, precocious. And you? Well, you know what you want. And don’t want. And are very clear on these two issues. Always. And I can only hope, that as you enter the cold hard world of Kindergarten that the work we have done and continue to do, will help you cope when things don’t go exactly as you have planned.

There is one last thing I want to add before I wrap things up. This last year, we lost your Uncle Scott. I need to mark this place in time for you because to be perfectly honest you just don’t have the emotional processing power at this point in your life to fully understand the magnitude of this loss. You grasp it on a very pragmatic level – the details of what happened, that he died and that you won’t see him anymore. But the emotional impact of this loss, is still somewhat of an abstract concept for you. Scott was your dad’s big brother. His only brother. He adored you and Stella, as you did him. And although your dad and I have every intention of keeping him alive in both of your hearts and memories, it won’t change the fact that we will all forever miss him and his presence in all of our lives.

And so, there you have it. Year 5. The fun, the goofy, the quirks and all. I could never truly capture all of it, but I will say that I love it when you ask “Mom, could you louder it up?” when we are listening to the radio in the car. And I love it when you tell jokes and do your booty-shaking dance and sing along to the music. I love watching the relationship you are building with your sister – truly sibling-like in every way. And I love you, little man. Happy Birthday.
Love,
Mom

Tsunami Friday

Posted on March 11, 2011 by Natalie

Today Japan was hit with one of the worst earthquakes in history. The repercussions from this earthquake were many, one of which was widespread tsunami warnings for the outermost edges of the west coast – Humboldt County being one of them. Schools were closed, evacuations were imposed, and everyone waited to see exactly what would happen. Once the early-morning chaos subsided, everyone looked up and realized that we were also experiencing one of the more spectacular days we have seen in weeks. And it was Friday. So, we set aside our discombobulation and opted to make the best of a less than perfect situation. As one does.

(click photo to see entire set)

Fuel to Her Fire

Posted on March 1, 2011 by Natalie

One of the other notable items from this year’s annual snow-stravaganza was that Stella found her holy grail in the form of a precocious boy and his feline sidekick. Yes, that is my fancy way of saying she’s totally addicted to Calvin & Hobbes. At some point, while rifling through the stacks of books up at the cabin she came across one of Steve and/or Scott’s anthologies, and the rest was history.

She read…

And she read….

And then, when we got home she checked out a new one from her school library and read some more….

Mother’s Note: The best part of this is the where she forged a relationship with Calvin based on his wit and adventure and not on what he is able to pee on. Hollah!

And then there was snow

Posted on February 28, 2011 by Natalie

This was the year. The year we would get Stella on the chair lift and the year we would get Porter on skis. And what do you know, but we did it! Or, they did it. Er, um, we facilitated it? Whatever. Stella slayed the chair-lift (with the one minor hiccup of nearly taking out my mom’s knee on one of her earlier dismounts), and Porter skied. Let me say that again: Porter. Skied. Okay, to be totally honest, he spent about 10 minutes in his lesson until he grew too impatient to wait, and instead made Steve haul him to the top of the bunny hill. Steve, who was not wearing skis. You see, Porter had no interest in the banal details of safety and recovery – he just wanted to ski, Ski, SKI!!! And so up he went, armed with a lot of enthusiasm and little else. He made it up and down the hill a couple of times – only dragging Steve over once. And at the end of it all he called it a success, and so therefore WE called it a success. Done annnnd done!

The rest was all just gravy…

Happy 7th Birthday, Stella

Posted on December 9, 2010 by Natalie

Hey Sis,

Well, here we are. Year 7. A year of growth, and change and life altering moments.

If I’d ever had a 7 year old before, I might be able to have a little perspective. However, being that I have no recollection of being 7 myself, I instead find myself proud, conflicted, confused, excited, perplexed and surprised – as in, daily. Like, how sometimes you are 7. You play fairies with your friends. You build forts with your brother. You color, and make potions from mud and grass, and watch cartoons. Then, sometimes you are 13. You pout. You primp and preen about your appearance. You trot around with your iPod belting out lyrics like “How will I knnnoowwww if heeeee looooves me?” Aye carumba. I sense the changes coming, and it is frightening. No, make that terrifying. No, wait, make that frighteningly terrifying. Your dad and I both can personally relate to many aspects of your personality – which directly underscores our fear. Ironically, our counselor informed us that it is that empathy that might be our greatest asset.

What counselor? Oh yeah, about that…

This year, your dad and I reached a point where we felt like we had emptied our parenting toolbag (even going so far as to turn it upside down and shake it vigorously in the hopes that a Chaos McMinimizer® might have been stuck somewhere in the lining.) So we sought professional help. We initially set out on this quest due to your brother (something he will hear about AT LENGTH in his birthday post) – but also to get a handle on the overall chaos our house seemed to be continually swept up in. Our counselor – The Child Whisperer, as I like to refer to her – gave us some pretty interesting information that has helped us understand the intricacies of your personalities a little better. You, my little flower, have a bit of an impulsive side to you. This wasn’t exactly news. Nor was the fact that for both you and your brother they had to add about 6 additional numbers to the scale so we could accurately score you in the Intensity category. None of this was really all that shocking – however she did give us some guidance on how to productively channel all this awesomeness: trickery and magic. And sometimes, handcuffs (but just sometimes).

After last year’s little leapfrogging exercise you did from Kindergarten to 1st grade, we all of a sudden found ourselves walking you to the first day of 2nd grade. Poof, just like that. It was an emotional day for many reasons (more on this later), but you – per your usual self – walked in, sat down and owned the place. Just before letting out for Thanksgiving we had your parent-teacher conference, and with the exception of a not so subtle comment about someone’s need to always have the last word (ahem), you are a model student. And although you jumped from the top to the bottom of the age heap, you are indistinguishable as anything other than a full-fledged 2nd grader. Just promise me you will use your powers for good and not evil. Please?

You are still an avid reader and often times when I wonder where you have been for the last hour, will find you off somewhere buried in a book. This becomes very conflicting for me when I have asked you on 15 different occasions to get your pajamas on and each time I come to check you have only moved one inch closer to your dresser – while still reading. You’ll have to excuse me if I find difficulty in yelling at my child to stop reading already.

Now, on to the part I hate to have to write. This year your Uncle Scott died. It still sounds so surreal to even say. It was out of nowhere, and although it has just now been a little over three months, all of us feels like we have lived 10 lifetimes. Your dad and I opted to tell you about it right away, and gave you the option of attending the funeral. You immediately agreed, telling me that unlike those of us who were at the hospital, you didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. And although you were there, going through the experience with all of us, it has only been in these following months that I have watched you process what it all means. We have made a point to continue to talk openly about Scott in hopes that you and Porter will understand that this is something that takes a long time to work through and that no matter how much it hurts, we want to keep remembering him. You are continuing to ruminate and come up with new questions – like when, out of nowhere, you asked me if it hurts when you die. Ugh. I try to be honest in my answers, and try not to repress my emotion – but it is difficult, because I can tell that it upsets you when you see Dad and I cry. You have continually read and re-read the children’s grief books that we got from the nurses at the hospital, and they seem to be a comfort to you, as well as a signal to me that you are thinking about it. Stel, this will be something that will overshadow our lives forever, but your Dad and I are committed to do whatever it takes to bring us all through this. One step at a time.

I know that as you look back over these pages later you’ll realize that my frequency and volume of writing have thinned quite a bit over the last year or two. We are at a point where you guys need me more than my computer does. Thankfully, I have managed to keep a consistent stream of 140 character blog posts running over on Twitter, and a quick skim through that list tells a story of it’s own. I have no doubt I’ll get a chance to return to writing more frequently, and when I do I think even that will have changed. As you get older, I am careful to be much more selective about what I will and won’t say here. It isn’t fair for me to share details of your life that could ultimately be stumbled upon by your peers. Things that are funny or crazy or heartwarming to me as your mom, could be mortifying to you, and I want you to know that I respect you way too much to put you in that kind of position. Unless you deserve it ;)