Oh, Asher!

Three? Three years old? Already?

I suppose all of my birthday letters start out this way: How can you be this age already? (And isn’t Mommy predictable?)

Let me try to explain:

Mommy lives in two times, simultaneously.

In one timeline, the days are 30 hours each and they lumber by in no hurry because, really, where is there to go? There are runny noses to wipe and spills to mop. Toys spread out and toys are gradually raked back into their proper places, ebbing in and out, much like waves on a beach. Our rhythm and routines are routine; they simply push us through the hours slowly. There’s no real urgency because tomorrow will be very much like today or yesterday. Life is punctuated by visits to and from grandparents and trips to the grocery store. I only know it’s Tuesday because we’re out of Strauss vanilla yogurt. We creep silently toward each weekend with some anticipation because then Daddy will be home during the day and we’ll all enjoy his company.

The other timeline is faster and, frankly, I think you’re completely unaware of it. You don’t realize how quickly you are changing because you have plenty of other things to think about, like whether Lucas is touching your stuff or Daddy remembered to buy more yogurt. You don’t notice that you’re acquiring new information so fast it makes my head spin. Shiny new words pop out of your mouth every hour and sometimes I have to stop and wonder, where on earth did you hear that? I can practically watch your hair growing.

This is the timeline that people with older or grown children always refer to when they say, “Oh! It goes by so fast! Treasure the time when your baby is little!” And sleepily I think to myself, Bull! It doesn’t go fast. In fact, the minutes between 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. numbered about 40,000 this morning. Because when we’re in it, in the trenches of every hour of every day, it’s slow going. But even as I restrain my temper and hold my tongue, I know those other parents are right, in a way. They’re talking about how one minute you need help to reach something on the countertop and the next minute you’re pushing me away with a forceful demand, “I do it by mySELF!” One minute you’re all about cuddling in the rocking chair, and the next you cannot be bothered because, as you explain so clearly, “Mom, I’m too busy.” And one day you won’t want to cuddle at all anymore and you’ll be borrowing my car keys and scrounging in my purse for cash. And then I’ll think just like all those other parents. I’ll know that my stint of living in two times is over, and they’ve merged into one, luge-like race.

But never mind. Let’s not borrow trouble, shall we?

And how can my meager words capture a picture of you now, on your third birthday, about to start your fourth year in our family? I guess I’ll start small.

You now have a wealth of likes and dislikes and you’re not afraid to tell us all about them. Your favorite colors are yellow and purple—your birthday cake was purple. Your favorite animal seems to be a hippo, although you also like cows, and mice, and aliens. I’m pretty sure you think aliens are just another everyday barnyard animal. You also think hippos and monkeys and zebras belong on farms, too. You enjoy the Bennetts’ cats a lot, but grandma’s dog Tolly is just a bit too tall and bouncy for you to feel entirely comfortable around her. She always licks your face and her tail accidentally bops you in the side of your head. Bacon (NoNo and Mars’s dog) is another story! You cannot get enough of Bacon and you think it’s hilarious that his name is Bacon!

Pretend play and role-playing are coming into the forefront of your play routines. You like to play firefighter, alien hunter, superhero, builder, guardian of Princess Mommy, store, and office—these last two games mostly involve your dumping everything you own (and much of your brother’s stuff) in a giant pile and then sitting in the middle of it—not unlike a 3-year-old dragon lazing atop your mountain of stolen gold.

Until just recently, you did all of your playing in the family room (where you could make the pile of stuff really big). You seem now to have discovered your bedroom, and have turned it into a factory. You are playing in there now more than ever before and you really like to have a witness. “Do you want to come in my factory?” you invite sweetly. You don’t like hearing no for an answer, though. At the moment, the train table is piled high with your toys all in a jumble. If I move anything, if I put any little thing away and you catch me doing it, you get really mad at me. Nothing will send you into a rage faster than when we touch your stuff. “DON’T TOUCH MY STUFF!”

About one week ago, we touched your stuff in a big way. We moved your brother’s bed into your room with the idea that the two of you will share a bedroom for a while. We had been discussing it for about a month and you and Lucas are very excited about it. You even became convinced it was your idea. “How ‘bout this idea? Lucas’s bed up high and Baby Asher’s bed down here!” So far this is working out pretty well. You don’t want to go to sleep at the same time as Lucas, but I think that’s just a matter of time and our sticking to it. We have let you stay up too late for too long for you to easily accept an abrupt change of routine and an earlier bedtime. We’re making the bedroom move in stages. It is our sincere hope that this will be a very positive thing for you and Lucas both. We’re hoping it might bring you closer together and encourage you to get along well. We’ll see…

Just this morning, the morning of your third birthday, you ran into our room and made a pronouncement. I was asleep at the time, so I don’t remember exactly what you said, but I remember thinking, My goodness! He really has learned to talk! Every day you perfect the art of communicating with us. You also are developing a juvenile sense of humor: Your favorite words now are “booty butt” and “poop,” which are both understandable and somewhat embarrassing. I mean, it’s not good manners to tell all the adult women you know “You have a big booty butt.” I’ve caught myself trying to soften the blow by warning my female friends before you can spring that little gem on them. You seem to say it just to see what will happen, given that you make the same size comment on a great variety booty butts.

You ask me pretty often these days whether I have a penis. When I answer in the negative, you’re not pleased and frequently claim you don’t have one either. Worse, you sometimes say something like “I don’t want a penis. I cut it off.” I assure you that penises are good and nice and you should have one. Boys have them and it’s great!

Asher, I’m delighted to report that you are learning to eat vegetables. You still would rather not do it, but you have a more pragmatic approach to mealtimes now. If you want dessert (often strawberries or oranges or apple slices), you have to muscle your way through some spinach leaves or a couple of carrots. I bless your preschool teachers every time you accept your fate and start munching on plant foods. You’re acquiring a taste for potatoes and the other day you even dove into a pile of asparagus. I said a silent hallelujah while hushing your brother’s groans and moans about having to eat it. You still ask for “chocolate dinner,” though, as if you’ve ever gotten a chocolate dinner! When you cook for me in your kitchen, you often serve chocolate dinners.

I noticed that you were developing an aversion to the doctor’s office. We have had to visit Dr. Felix three or four times this fall/winter; the first time was for a flu shot. You began protesting, saying “I don’t need a doctor. Doctor is creepy. I don’t go to the doctor.” We have started playing doctor in the hopes that you would build up more positive associations, and for your birthday, we bought you a groovy doctor’s kit and stethoscope. I think you’re more comfortable now with the idea that doctors fix people and make them feel better. Today at your birthday party you blew through all the band-aids that came in the kit. You say, “Be really, really brave” as you come at me with your wooden hypodermic needle. All the party guests left with their owies well treated by Doctor Baby Asher.

And speaking of your name, you still refer to yourself as Baby Asher. Sometimes you announce “I a big boy.” I think that your teachers are working on that idea at school. After all, big boys get to do more cool stuff. You have proven me wrong about the potty training—you still have no interest in using the potty. Silly mommy, making false predictions about when you’d learn those potty skills! Still, I’m hoping that your buddy at school will inspire you to start doing it. And I know boys tend to train later than girls do.

Occasionally, you are a furious wildcat when it’s time for a nap. The other day I held you in my arms and swayed on my feet while you howled and spit, clawed and hissed, groaned and growled, thrashed and scratched and wailed for 35 minutes. Then, you collapsed in a heap and slept for two solid hours. You just don’t want to rest. You are far to busy doing your own thing. But I persist and I fervently hope that you will continue napping through the next year at least.

Dear Asher, you are both my fascination and my tiny little nemesis. You offer us such joy, such pleasure, and such tribulation! You are my perfect, exquisite little torturer and I love you through it all. Thank you for being my darling, my Angel Boy. Thank you for falling asleep in my arms and by my side. Thank you for gracing my life will all the laughter, snuggles, and goofy grins. My heart is full to bursting. My life is richer for you.

I love you, Baby. My Little Big Boy Asher. Happy Birthday!

Mama

We’ve been working today, getting ready for Asher’s birthday tomorrow. The bunting I made is hung, the pillowcase I sewed for him is done, the birthday crown I decided just yesterday to make for him is done but for the final fitting and seam. The cake is baked and cooling, and it will be ready for decorating tomorrow morning.

I took a ton of photos today, but here are a few of my favorites.

The sun is out! This is kind of electrifying after all the rain we’ve had this month.

I made a new contact at a big company that provides publishing services to many publishers today. He had already found an editor for his project, but I was able to send him my info and résumé and ask him to keep me in mind for future projects. It was a pleasant exchange and I’m fairly optimistic something might come of it. They do a lot of publishing for K-12 and that’s a new area I’d be interested in, and one for which my experience would be well suited, I think.

I’m looking forward to being able to point such potential clients at my new biz website and say, “Hey, check me out.”

I’ve got other irons in the fire now, too, and I’m kind of wondering if any of them will result in work. One possibility is that they all will, all at once. That’s a sobering thought, but also a happy one. I’m enjoying a tiny lull right now and spent part of the day invoicing.

The school fundraiser auction is coming up and I’m wondering what I might want to make and donate. Last year I needle felted some fairy folk and donated them along with a book of stories. One idea might be to sew another birthday bunting that might be included in a bigger “birthday package”-type auction item. But I’ve always wanted to needle-felt some seasonal dolls. Must think on this some more.

Tiptoes Lightly, Pepper Pot, and Pine Cone by moi

Today is exciting because this afternoon Ian and I get to meet with Lucas’s second-grade teacher to see how he’s doing in school. (Our meeting should have occurred last November, but we didn’t make our appointment [insert guilty feeling here].)

Since our Waldorf school doesn’t give out grades, this is our big, mid-year opportunity to find out what’s going on with Lucas and how he’s progressing academically, socially, artistically, and emotionally—from his teacher’s perspective. I know what I think—that he’s brilliant and creative and diabolical and sensitive and totally likable—but then, I’m his mother, and decidedly not the one trying to teach him maths and cursive handwriting!

Blessed quiet fills the house this morning. School has started back up, and although it was a trifle rocky getting Lucas out the door, I am very pleased to be back to our school-days routine. I am enjoying filling my body with the silence and deep breaths. There is plenty to do: editing work, chores, errands. And yet, I’m feeling peaceful and happy.

We had a good, long winter break. Ian was off work for the entire time the kids were out of school and daycare, and that, my friends, is a BEAUTIFUL thing. I’m so grateful because my work didn’t slack off at all until New Year’s Day and if Ian hadn’t been at home to keep the children occupied, I never would have made it. I am burned out and weary, but the last couple of days have been mellow, with hardly any work at all—just a check-in here, an email to write and send there. Rest is most welcome and I’m hoping to get a lot of it this week.

Christmas. What can I say? It was glorious and outrageous as ever. It was abundant and fun. It was also both busy and a little weird at times. Family troubles dominated my family’s side of things this year. Fortunately, I think my boys didn’t even notice. The gift-giving at RoRo’s house was low-key compared to usual, which was a blessing. And yet, somehow, my parents made up for that by showering presents on my kids. Mom and Dad and Jonathan arrived at our house Christmas morning with a huge carload of gifts. My mother kept shaking her head and muttering, “I guess I got a little carried away this year.” This amuses me; it’s not really like her to do so.

Ian and I approached Christmas with a fair amount of trepidation. Some of which was totally unfounded. We enjoyed a spur-of-the-moment shopping spree at Toys R Us for the kiddos. We also plowed through our home and garage in the last days before Christmas and boxed up lots of old toys for Goodwill and some for Ian’s clinic. So far, not a single item has been missed by Lucas or Asher.

I am so grateful the children had such a nice Christmas. Our days were full of conspicuous good behavior, talk of Santa Claus, and lots attention from Daddy.

Here are just some of the wonderful gifts we received:

Lucas: lots of science kits (experiments, volcanoes, science you can eat such as soda, rock candy, etc.), rollerblades, books, awesome colored pencils, Green Lantern action figures, and massive amounts of Lego.

Asher: books, puzzles, a noisy rocket ship, a noisy fire truck, a noisy cash register (his new “computer”), wooden boats, play dough, a carved owl that hoots, wooden tools, and nice block crayons.

Ian: a gorgeous new rug, many books, lots of music, a sweater, slippers, and high-quality cookware.

Sara: a gorgeous new rug, a Singer sewing machine, Gingher sewing shears, books, sweaters, two scarves, and lotion.

Our 15th annual Christmas party was a huge success! We were delighted to welcome old friends and new to our home Christmas night. I’m still smiling about it. We had a bunch of kids come, too, which was great fun for our boys. The last guests left at 2:30 a.m. on Boxing Day.

I had high hopes to make gifts this year. None of my plans panned out because my work kept me cranking hard the whole month. Some part of me finds it interesting to watch my internal struggle about that; letting go of my expectations and banishing the Shoulds is often hard for me. But I did it eventually out of necessity. Our Christmas was bountiful in every way, and that is thanks, in part, to the work I do.

Thank you to all who showered us with presents, good food, their presence, good wishes, and love.

Painting by Lucas. Feliz Navidad!

An elfin warrior and a good soldier koala man fight the evil emperor, who threatens the kingdom of cuddly Oo Ah Ee creatures!

No toys in this house are played with as much as these colorful silk scarves, except perhaps for Legos. Lucas never tires of inventing stories and now that Asher is almost 3-years-old, he has plenty to add to the games. Their play is far more imaginative,  interactive, and involves more role-playing than it was just six months ago. This is a beautiful thing because the more they play imagination games, the more they are cooperating instead of competing for resources. Fortunately, we have plenty of play silks.

My mud monster with eyes like the sea. Lucas spent this day sliding in the mud at school. Because on a muddy December play yard at a Waldorf school, nobody is going to stop you from doing it. I’m grateful for that. And then at home, after this photo was taken, Lucas learned how to put a load of laundry into the washer. I’m grateful for that, too.

We got to spend some time alone together Thursday night and it was so good. Lucas and I attended the Las Posadas celebration at his school, saw some friends, ate a churro, and he got to hit the piñata. At first, it was a little stilted; we were in our own two worlds with our own distractions. But some satsumas and a candy from the piñata, and then some salad, yummy pizza, and conversation helped. We played a few games of Connect Four at the pizza parlor, and then we puzzled our way through a face-guessing game without any instructions. It was fun and got us all warmed up and connected. At home, still just the two of us, we got Lucas ready for bed and read some Christmas stories. We even sang the “Twelve Days of Christmas” with gusto along with the picture book. And we snuggled.

I’m struck by how much my relationship to this boy has changed since his brother arrived. There was a time when Lucas and I were completely inseparable. I love him completely and am reminded that there needs to be time for just us.

Our first batch of plum jam was made on December 4th with Papa. Last night we made another big batch and we’ll have to see later tonight whether it’s gelled properly. The jam is low in sugar, sweet-tart, and full of pulpy goodness. I hope it’s delicious.

The plums we used were frozen from last year’s harvest, when Dad and I picked way more than we could process in three jam-making sessions. It was a difficult time then, full of anxiety (and flat-out fear on my part) about Dad’s upcoming heart surgery, and making jam together was our bonding activity. It was special and sweet, the first time we had ever made jam together, and laced with uncomfortable overtones of, “what if.”

The jamming has been different this year. More of a celebration. More an act of thanksgiving for me. Dad is well, perhaps not fully recovered, but nevertheless doing great despite a lot of stress and caring for his 89-year-old mother and 96-year-old  aunt. He would say he’s all better now. I know he still tires easily.

I would be very pleased if I could be making plum jam with my dad for another 15 years.

I’m working on being both reasonable and flexible this holiday season—reasonable about what I can accomplish and flexible when circumstances change and obstacles arise.

I had high hopes that we could go up to the foothills this year to hunt for our Christmas tree, but the rainy weather on Saturday and limited time made the trip impossible. We always have such fun visiting the craft fairs and enjoying a slice of apple pie. Instead, we went to Lucas’s school and bought a beautiful tree. Our money will help the school and a group of girls who have formed a eurhythmy troop. We were back home with our tree in less than 30 minutes, which meant that we got the whole thing decorated in a day, instead of it taking all weekend (a day in the foothills, and a day to decorate the tree).

It’s wacky that so many of our ornaments have memories attached to them. I often know where they came from—who gave this one to us, what year I bought that one, which ones are handmade, where Mom and Dad were traveling when they picked up those two, what this one meant to me when I received it. I have ornaments that have been on my family’s Christmas tree since I was in preschool. And if that’s not sentimental, I don’t know what is.