Dear Asher,

You are 4! Of course I am amazed by this, but also excited, for every day I see the world opening up more and more to you. You are becoming your own little master and you are a mighty force of a boy!

So much has happened since your last birthday. You’ve traveled so far. No longer do you want to be called “Baby Asher,” or “my baby.” You are a Big Boy now, except when you’re feeling small or a little challenged, and then you quietly tell me you are a Little Boy. This doesn’t happen often, however. You boldly march into almost all situations with your head held high and a battle cry on your lips. You are ready for nearly anything, nearly anytime. You are your brother’s powerful sidekick—what superhero would that be? Surely you are more competent than Robin.

In the last year you have continued to perfect your language skills. Now you talk constantly, giving us precious insight into your blossoming personality and miraculous imagination. You are a man of adventure, at least in your own private world, which you call Dreamland. There, anything is possible for you. There, you are all-powerful. Thanks to your daring-do, monsters are vanquished. Maidens are saved. Ninjas are defeated. Bad Guys quickly are made to regret their poor life choices. You tell us all about it. We in your family try to keep up, but we’ve learned that Dreamland is a fluid place, where continents shift and volcanoes erupt. Rules are very different there, and yet you have set yourself up with seven moms and seven dads. I suspect this is so that you can take on the most perilous missions and still feel you are being supervised, besides, in Dreamland you get to boss them all around. I should say, Dreamland stories can last for ten minutes or more, nonstop. I know that in Dreamland, candy dinners are often served.

Not only are your storytelling muscles being exercised daily, but also your sense of humor is blooming, too. You get jokes and often laugh uproariously. You tell jokes, too, sometimes playing on words and often making a point of saying something controversial, like “butt” or “poo poo head.” You smile and laugh easily. The world seems to hold so much enjoyment for you, and I hope this will be true for you your whole life!

You are perfecting numerous methods by which you can get your brother’s goat. And although I wish it were otherwise, your bickering is in full force now. I don’t like it when you two fight, but it seems to be an unstoppable part living with a brother. I think it means that you are starting to hold your own in this household. Lucas isn’t always the ring leader and you are not always the follower, as it might at first seem. You start disagreements and pick on him, just as he does you. I merely have to turn my head a moment to discover the two of you, clutching sticks and whacking each other for all you’re worth.

In all of your daily activities, you are showing marvelous growth. You are physically strong and growing tall. You used to be such a picky eater, preferring meat always. Your repertoire of vegetables you eat is expanding all the time, and I must admit I’m happy to see it. Now you enjoy raw carrots (while playing bunny), bread and butter pickles, apples, pears, kiwi fruits, celery, broccoli, green beans, lettuce, spinach, and potatoes. You’re not thrilled about it, but you will choke down a small portion of greens or cabbage, especially if doing so gets you an after-dinner cookie. And this is enough for now. I’m not at all worried about your eating habits. We just have to make sure to continue to offer you healthy fruits and veggies every day and you will do the rest. In any case, you are not a meek child who waits to be noticed. When you are hungry or thirsty, you’re very clear about it. You make your needs and your preferences known. We’re working on getting you to use better manners about it.

Your sleeping patterns are changing now, which is something I remember from when Lucas was your age. You had become quite accustomed to sleeping alone in your bed. Then last winter we moved your brother into your bedroom and now you have to share. Lucas gets the top bunk and you get the bottom, which is dark and cozy and soft. At first, the excitement of sharing a room was overwhelming and you both elected to sleep together, usually in Lucas’s bed once we determined you wouldn’t fall out. Gradually, though, Lucas wished for more space of his own (and discovered what a little furnace you are when you’re sleeping). Getting used to sleeping without Lucas in bed with you has been hard. Now that you are nearly 4, you have bad dreams pretty often, or have to go potty in the night, and you wake up. Lately you’ve been joining Mama and Daddy in bed at 4 a.m. or 2 a.m. This is hard on Daddy. You have a tendency to bicycle your legs to get the covers off, and in the process you kick people. (Maybe this is why Lucas doesn’t want you sleeping with him anymore.) We’re working through it. We don’t really want to tell you no right now, as you’re kind of afraid of the dark and don’t like being alone. And so, we cope.

You now like to do all kinds of things by yourself, like dressing in your outer coat and putting on your slip-on galoshes. One day recently you were so adamant that you didn’t need any help at all, and yet your jacket sleeves were both inside out. You worked on putting on that coat for 15 minutes solid—and as you struggled you got more and more angry that it wasn’t working! You knew how to put it on; it had worked for you so many times before! Why not now? Tears were flowing and I finally was able to sneak in there and help you turn the sleeves right-side out. You got the jacket on, but you were livid that I had dared to interfere! You bawled me out for an hour after that.

You’re doing great in the potty now; six months ago was a very different time. You’re completely out of diapers and only sometimes have nighttime accidents. Most of the time, you manage everything by yourself now, unless you feel like having company along.

Oh my, how you play! Your imagination is off the charts. You switch between being a dragon, a rabbit, an astronaut, and a ninja in mere seconds, if you wish. Or you let one idea take hold and carry you all through the day. I frequently play the supporting role of mama rabbit, mama dragon, mama chicken, etc. I’m used to being just outside your spotlight. Daddy gets to be the daddy fill-in-the-blank, too. We make marvelous families of fluffy duckmouseratdragonrabbitchickencows and birds. Sometimes you enjoy using play silks as your costumes; they often help you transform yourself. They aren’t necessary, though, which is wonderful. Sometimes, a throw blanket over the top of you sees you sufficiently snug inside your egg for a quick and exciting hatching. We never know what critter will emerge from the egg!

When you’re playing with Lucas, you’re usually something more martial than a sweet woodland creature. You’re dragons together, or knights, ninjas or airplane pilots. Often this ends in kung fu or magic battles in which one of you gets hurt. Even when you don’t get physically hurt, you sometimes perceive each magic spell as a great wound; it’s all so real to you it makes you cry when Lucas says something along the lines of, “Your spell just bounced of my ricochet force field and it slammed back into you and now you have no arms!” Oh catastrophe! Oh tears! Bellows of “Stop it!” and “Leave me alone!” are commonly heard around our home. The impulse to wrestle and fight and knock against each other is so powerful in you both as brothers. It drives your father and me to distraction.

You do play nicely with Lucas now, too. When both of you play cooperatively, it’s wonderful. You laugh and tell jokes to each other. You cooperate in saving the world as superheroes. You rescue Princess Mommy when she’s in distress. You care for animals in an animal hospital. You search for wild dragons in the backyard, and tame them with your magic, secret languages, and animal training skills.

Asher, you are something of a hoarder still. Since you were little you’ve always enjoyed piling up your belongings into a great heap. You don’t like anyone to touch these items, or try to put them away into their proper places. These collections are your “work,” or your “store,” or your “tools.” Any item whatsoever becomes a tool of some kind, and it’s all the better if you can find some ribbon or piece of yarn to tie multiple toys together into a Frankentoy, with unique and useful properties.

One of my very favorite things about you is that you love music and you LOVE to dance. You seem to have some natural talent, quickly learning songs that Lucas has learned at school and hummed once or twice at home. In fact, you seem to pick up on any tune really fast. When you hear a new song you like, your face lights up and you ask urgently, “Who’s that? What’s this music called?” If you really, really like it, you ask for that music after dinner, when we are cleaning the table and doing dishes. This is, traditionally, our After-Dinner Disco time. Anyone with a yen to hear anything in particular can request songs at this point, and you often pipe up with just the thing. You like music that’s upbeat, fast, and joyful. You like fight songs and rock ‘n’ roll. You like to bang your head, which puts a sparkle in your Daddy’s eye. You have some wicked-cool moves, too; you’re serious about your dancing and you try out new tricks all the time, but in a purposeful and repeating way—not just randomly. I don’t know how to explain it, except to say my heart swells every time you get your groove on.

Preschool has been a wonderful experience for you this year. You changed preschools in September, right after we came home from Burning Man. Now you attend Starbright Garden Preschool and Miss Pati is your teacher. She is warm and grounded, and I think she makes you and all the other children there feel safe and comfortable. Her home is delightful and full of magical playthings and her garden has many nooks and crannies for you and your buddies to play in. Your two dearest friends came with you to Starbright Garden, and they continue to be close to you. (One of them, Noah, is teaching you about Michael Jackson and Taylor Swift music!) You’re also making new friends left and right, and since there are thirteen children at the school, you’re learning to operate in a bigger pond, so to speak. You’re very fond of Sophie, whom you plan to marry (right after you marry me and Daddy). She’s a great kid, so we’re pretty okay with that decision.

I guess I should sum up now by saying you are growing into such a clever and precocious boy. You’re a joy, and when you’re not it’s only because you’re flexing your independence or trying to work the system—necessary stages and skills worth practicing. You are formidable, as I said before. I’m honored to know you, my little one. Your father and I love you so much! You make us proud every day. You make me want to hold you up to the sun and shout my amazement and wonder to all the sky gods and all the earth goddesses everywhere:

Look at this boy! Look at my son! He is a miracle!

Happy birthday, Asher, my love. Blessed be.

Love,
Mama

Asher got mad at me last night. It seems he was hungry and wanted a snack. I began to warm up some leftovers for me and the boys to eat for dinner, as we were going to have to leave home very soon to make it to Lucas’s piano lesson. Apparently I didn’t act soon enough because he started to melt down.

Asher asked, “Are you going to feed me a snack?”

“No. I’m feeding you dinner. It’s chicken meat,” I said confidently, knowing that he devours the stuff.

“I don’t want dinner! I want a snaaaaack!”

A moment of quiet passed. I put the food on the table and walked into the living room with a sinking feeling.

He was standing on the window seat ripping down the snowflakes we had made and hung together. He stood with a crumpled mess at his feet. He knew just exactly how to hurt me. He knew I loved them.

I will absolutely grant you that it’s silly to cry over ripped paper snowflakes, but that is exactly what I did. Sometimes parenting is really hard. Sometimes children do rotten, hurtful things. And as much as I’d like to say I am above being insulted or hurt by their capricious natures, I am not, even though I try to be. There’s no point in taking something like this personally.

But that’s an interesting dilemma in my mind. I personally infuse so very much of me into my parenting. How much more personal can a 24/7 job be? Is it possible to operate so very intimately, so personally, only when things are okay, and then just blithely duck and weave when the “snow” starts flying? Maybe. But maybe not all the time.

Objectively I know that Asher is on the cusp of being 4, or in the prophetic words of the subtitle of my favorite parenting book series, “Wild and Wonderful.” He is feisty and willful and he wants what he WANTS! He is in control of very little in his life, and he is developmentally compelled to try to control it all.

I think seeing mama’s tears flowing because of something he did was a powerful moment for him (arguably both good and bad). He sobbed and remembered some of the right things to say.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll never do dat again! We should forgive ourselves.”

Yes, I suppose we should.

New year, new energy. That’s my goal. Although it pains me to realize/know/say/type it, the truth is that I’ve been neglecting my physical well-being for months now. And although I absolutely hate being or living a cliché, the truth is that it now, January, seems time to do something about it. I seem forever able to (kind of) balance either work and fitness, or work and family, or family and fitness, but never all three at once. I’m hoping that Asher’s downhill slide into age 4 will sort of tip the scale a bit in the direction of more free time for mama. So, today marks the start of my (our) new diet and exercise plan. Woo hoo!

There. I said it out loud. Maybe that will help. I am glad to have Ian striving by my side in this.

Inspired by SouleMama {this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

“Can I wear my snow gear to school today? It’s wet outside.”

“Yes.”

~~~
“Let’s walk, Mama!”

“In the rain?”

“Yeah! I have my boots. It’s fun!”

“Yes, it is. Let’s go.”

~~~

Do you ever have days when it seems like all that comes out of your mouth is no? I do. Do you ever find that all those noes, which are of course reasonable, justifiable, appropriate to the present circumstances, etc., seem to pile on top of each other until you and your children are smothered in them? I do.

I find that some days the noes are so very heavy, and they accumulate in great drifts of disappointment and anger. They’re depressing. They’re aggravating. They cause trouble.

In an avalanche of noes, tempers flare. We bash into one another emotionally. My stress levels rise. The children bicker more.

Even when every no placed on the pile is the well-meaning kind, sooner or later, the mountain looms, casting shadows and sucking the fun out of the day.

I’m trying to be mindful of this. I’m trying to turn my noes into yeses. Yesterday was a Yes Day. I just resolved to say yes as often as possible.

~~~

“When we get home, can I go play outside? I want to pick some rosemary to make my rosemary tea.”

“Yes.”

“Can I put some lemon in it?”

“Sure, honey.”

~~~

“Can we have popcorn with Parmesan cheese for snack?”

“Yes.”

~~~

“Can I light my special birthday candle that my teacher made for me?”

“Your May Pole candle? In December? Um … yes.”

~~~

“Mama! You come and play with me in the playroom?”

“Yes, OK.”

~~~

“Can we have a fire in the fireplace?”

“Yes. That sounds nice.”

~~~

“Can we eat a bit of chocolate?”

“A little, yes.”

~~~

“Mama! You come and be the tickle love monster and you chase us!”

“Yes! Here I come!”

~~~

“Mama, will you please snuggle me?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Princess! Listen to my words! You stay by me. I will betect [protect] you in the Land of Car! I am a warrior,” Asher explained as we wandered down the road early in the morning, heading generally in the direction of preschool.

We fought a dragon on the way. “Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting! Shink!” I’m sure I saw the tree stump cower.

We found some interesting things to look at: some pretty leaves, some goopy, leaf-choked puddles. Some lawns are covered in stars of all colors.

A car almost squished us. “Look out, Princess! It’s very dangerous!”

Having a warrior along while walking through the neighborhood can be a big help. It can also be somewhat … hair-raising. Warriors who are “7 years old” (really 3.75) are erratic at the best of times. Sometimes they dawdle, examining every stick along the way. Sometimes they rush haphazardly—forward, or even sideways. Sideways makes me nervous in the morning school drop-off traffic—the Land of Car.

“Princess! This is a magic puddle! I have to walk in it. How ’bout you be my mama duck Princess and I be your baby duck warrior?”

We walked a little closer to school. We balanced on white painted curbs. We watched the squirrels and the birds.

“Mama, I’m a betective. That means I’m in charge and I betect people. I train good dragons and kill only bad dragons. I ride on a dragon!”

We passed moms and dads hurrying their kids to the local school. Some of them smile at us.

“Mom, I’m gonna teach you how to run fast.” Perhaps we would get there faster if we ran, but honestly I would miss the meandering. I see and hear more when we go slowly.

I’ve been telling Asher a little story about the autumn here and there, when the moment is right and we’re in the mood to imagine.

When the weather becomes cool and mornings reveal frosty lawns or low-lying gray fog,

the trees prepare for the Autumn Ball by changing into their fanciest party dresses.

They put on gowns of glowing golds, brilliant scarlet, warm russets, and rich browns. They must get very fancy, for it will be their last party for a good long while.

They put on fine jackets of velvet and place gold crowns on their heads.

They shine up their boots and rouge their cheeks.

And together they whirl and swirl, dancing through the night under the stars, dancing while they greet the morning, dancing long into the midday sunshine, dancing even when it’s time for the little children to lay down their heads in the evening.

The trees sway to the music of the good earth, turning turning, shining and spinning in their fancy clothes and until at last they tire.

Soon they must disrobe and go to sleep through the long, cold winter. They must slumber and rest after such a glorious Autumn, and will spend the dark winter dreaming of the enchanting party they attended in November, when the winds blew through their beautiful ruffles and silken leaves as they danced the month away.

They will sleep until it’s time to wake and don new green clothes in Spring.

Lucas has just passed his half birthday, bringing him to the ripe old age of 8 and a half. And although I took these photos about a month ago, to me they capture something of his present age. This is my sensitive, clever boy flying through the air, determined, sure-footed, and courageous. He knows his capabilities. He can plan his footfalls, and he can adapt and switch course if he needs to.

He is self-assured and confident. He often marches into unknown territory with aplomb. His place in the universe is known and secure.

But there is still plenty of room for striving, for challenging himself, for testing and experimenting. It’s imperative. He must negotiate his way through space, through relationships, through his own needs and self-knowledge. He knows that he might get hurt, but he also knows he will heal if he does.

Sometimes he falls short or is disappointed. Sometimes he takes blows to his ego. Sometimes, despite all our efforts, he feels unloved and unwanted. He sits in judgment on himself and sometimes he doesn’t like what he sees. This too, is part of his age. He’s right where he’s supposed to be, figuring out who he is, and where and in what ways he is separate from others.

At this moment, he’s preparing to leave home. He has been planning an adventure for a few days now—one that he’s going on all by himself. He needs some freedom, he tells us. (At first his plan was to spend a whole day and night away, on his own, but that’s been modulated down to a more reasonable bike ride to his friends’ house a few blocks away. He knows to call me when he arrives there.)

Carpe diem! He is ready. He has a backpack full of provisions—lunch, a magnifying glass, and notebooks for any scientific discoveries he might make along the way. He also has his wand, just in case any bad guys or Dementors hassle him. He has his instructions and air in his tires. He knows his phone number.

Ah. That’s the bell on his bike. I hear it ringing as he rides out of the driveway, shouting good-bye. He made sure to give me a big hug and kiss, and gave some to his dad and brother, too. I saw the sparkle in his eyes. He is full of both our concern and our trust. He is feeling big, and capable, and sure.

Fare thee well, my sweet son.

Happy Equinox! Happy Mabon! Happy Last Day of Summer!

It was a busy day. I had originally planned to celebrate the equinox on the 23rd, but when I looked closer at the exact time of the equinox, I decided it couldn’t wait till tomorrow. (Tomorrow we can celebrate the First Day of Autumn!)

We’ve been watching for signs of Autumn around here. Mama’s been scoping out all the garden plants with a project in mind….

After a quick, $9 trip to the craft store today, we came home with a flat twig wreath base, some floral picks (wooden picks with a small amount of wire on one end), and some green floral twine, which we ended up not using. We wandered around our front and back yards and clipped little snippets off trees and shrubs, including liquidambar leaves (still green), flowering plum leaves (purple), mallow, Chinese elm, Japanese maple (purple and green), redwood sprigs, pittosporum, and lantana berries, heavenly bamboo fruits, rose hips, lavender flowers, and the spiky flowers from some ornamental grass. We also walked up the street a little ways and gathered fallen bits of live oak leaves.

While the vegetable soup was cooking I tried to get the kids interested in making the wreath with me. At first they couldn’t be bothered because they were too busy chasing around the backyard. But after I got the first layer on the wreath base, it caught Lucas’s eye and he came to help me. He did a great job of adding to the wreath, and especially enjoyed using the floral picks to wire items without strong stems into the wreath.

We pulled some deep orange/bronze seed lanterns off our goldenrain tree, plucked a touch of dusty miller, and added some rosemary from our herb patch. We added in a few acorns we had gathered from the neighborhood yesterday. Basically, if it was interesting and sturdy enough to be stabbed into our wreath, we used it. I’m delighted with all the colors our wreath has! I had feared that not enough foliage had begun to turn fall colors yet, and that it would be bland.

Here is the finished wreath, sans baby toes and with a few sticks we had gathered and displayed last spring. Ian helped us hang our equinox wreath above our nature table (which is really the top of our upright piano) in our great room. Since these plants are largely fresh, our wreath will wither and wilt over time. It may begin to fall apart, which in itself will be symbolic of the seasonal changes. I’m interested to see how well or poorly it lasts. I’ve never made one of these before.

Lucas then chopped our “finger salad,” mere raw zucchini rounds into halves, symbolizing that today the day and night are perfectly equal. While he did, Ian asked him math questions, which was fun.

Our backyard equinox table setting (blue plates for night, yellow plates for day, of course). I didn’t take a photo of our yummy vegetable lentil quinoa soup. (I’m no food photographer!) We ate homemade bread and soup and zucchini halves, and talked about what summer things we were thankful for (swimming lessons, swim team, Waldorf summer camp, play dates, our anniversary trip to Seattle, Burning Man—particularly because we came home with four noses, eight eyes, eight ears, 16 limbs, and 80 digits!).

We finished our celebration with pumpkin pie! Asher helped with making the pie crust and Lucas mixed up the filling and helped me roll out the crust.

And now, the holiday is done and I’m beat! Good night, and may the many blessings of the season be yours.

I am not sure how to start except to say I’m kind of flabbergasted. A switch in Lucas’s mind flipped this week; or perhaps someone installed new drivers overnight. I’m pretty sure that now, just about a month before his half birthday, we are seeing the first signs of the 9 year change.

This in itself isn’t unexpected. (We were given a handout by Lucas’s teacher last spring when many of his older classmates were already going through it.)

Nor is the timing particularly surprising now that I think about it further. For me, this time around the autumn equinox is always rife (fetid?) with turmoil and change. I’ve written about this before, particularly in the context of the Waldorf myth of St. Michael, whose festival we’ll be celebrating this year on October 1 at school.

So it’s the time of year to excavate and uncover, to face our dragons and look at life and ourselves with new eyes, to ask ourselves if we like what we see, or if it’s time to take our swords and cut away the elements that are no longer serving us, that keep us from feeling right in the world. These challenges are opportunities, right? They help us grow.

This year I’m reflecting on Lucas’s dragons, for I feel he has his own now. His dreamy innocence is falling off him, little by little. His mind is sharp and becoming more critical by the day. He is now becoming an individual who is finally all the way in the world and looking about. He won’t like everything he sees. He won’t like everything he is.

This change of consciousness during the ninth year is challenging for child and parent alike, I am told. The payoff is that this is how a child naturally separates himself from his parents and develops his own individual character. It’s part of his learning to think critically, make choices, and become his own person—all fantastic stuff!

Admittedly, it is somewhat alarming to hear his brand-new self-loathing: “I hate myself. I’m the dumbest! I shouldn’t even exist!” His criticism should  fall squarely on his parents before too long.

Really, this is just the beginning of a phase that we all have to get through, and who knows what will happen. I would not have guessed that one of his first declarations of independence would be to “challenge himself” to stay awake the whole night last night!

Lucas came to tell us several times (10 p.m., 11:15 p.m.) that he couldn’t sleep. We gently but firmly sent him back to bed with an extra hug and the advice that one cannot fall asleep if one doesn’t still one’s body. We went to sleep. Asher, who is sick and was barking and coughing, woke up around 2:30 needing a drink of water. When I took Asher  back to bed, I realized that Lucas wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t in Asher’s bed either. (I’m not the sharpest at 2:30 a.m. so I was confused.) Then I started to get scared and went looking through the house for Lucas. I found him asleep in the comfy armchair in the living room. I tried to slow my pounding heart and ultimately decided to leave him asleep in the chair. I went back to bed myself but had trouble going back to sleep. I kept worrying about him, wondering what he had on his mind that had caused his insomnia. What nightmare did he have that drove him from his bed? Oh, we weren’t gentle enough with him when he told us he couldn’t sleep earlier, and he was too afraid of our wrath to come to us when he needed us!

Nope. None of that. This morning he revealed he had deliberately tried to stay awake all night. He had played while the rest of us slept. He had spent a bunch of time finger-knitting a long rope. Ian and I sipped our morning coffee and tried to figure out which part of Lucas’s story was the lie. We told him that he isn’t to do that anymore: When we put him in bed for the night, we expect him to stay there! (I guess I should be glad that he didn’t leave the house!)

Natural consequences are tough. He was TIRED today at school. And bedtime came mighty early tonight.