Anna, 81 months and counting

“How much time does it take the Earth to go all the way around the sun? I better look that up in my planets book after dinner."

***

“Mom, come look at this cloud! I think it’s a funnel cloud, it has ominous striations all over it!”

***

“I can’t find a book! I’m supposed to bring my favorite book and I can’t find one!”

“Anna, you have a dozen books all over, just pick one.”

“But I can’t find ONE, Mommy! I’m only supposed to bring ONE!”

In lieu of any other description, that is Anna in her own words. She checks out encyclopedias from the library, just for fun. She has a lightening quick memory and picks up little facts everywhere, dropping them casually throughout her conversation, as innocently as a toddler reciting the alphabet. She would sit, oblivious to the world, all day if we didn't tell her to just, "put down the book and step away", words I never thought I would utter.

Of course she’s still a little kid and just as gullible as your average 1^st grader. “Harushi in my class says her parents are out of town and she gets to drive herself everywhere and go to McDonald’s all by herself and see movies at the theatre (pronounced thee-A-ter) every night! True, she does! REALLY!”

Since she was born, Anna has been more sensitive than the other kids. She has a thinner skin. She feels insults more deeply, empathizes with others to the point of her OWN tears and can (more rarely now as she gets older) have violent fits of temper over strange things that leave her hysterically inconsolable for hours. When this happens, Kurt and I just give each other the look and, depending on the circumstance, either let her settle herself alone in her room or just hold her until the storm passes. We've learned it's basically unkind to try to punish her or tell her to "just stop it and calm down". She is an emotional sponge and sometimes things, often just little things, start to wring her out. She gets that from me, actually.

In the same vein, her love is extreme. She hugs, she kisses, she holds on tightly for longer than is almost comfortable. At any given opportunity she will snuggle in against us as comfortable as a kitten. Throw in a story and she’s in heaven on high. Her gap-tooth smile (she's lost 4 teeth and plays constantly with the loose ones, to my disgust. Ew.) is just about my favorite thing ever.

If you ask her, Anna will tell you she wants to be a scientist or an artist when she grows up. I keep telling her she can be both. For the moment, she remains undecided.

Most of all, Anna is a big sister, a caretaker. She teaches Silvia what she has learned, though sometimes the lessons come with a certain air of condescension and impatience. I find them sometimes curled up together as she reads her sister a story. The love to play “Tea Cafe” with made-up menus where they set up the house as a restaurant and, together, make fabulous dinners for us (I wonder if it’s bad that they always put beer on the beverage menu?). She loves all things Jack, wanting to hold him and carrying him around when I’m not looking. If he’s in his crib or high chair while I try to get something else done, she will happily entertain him with dancing, singing, random screeching and anything else that wins a smile. 

At a play area yesterday I saw a little baby girl, not yet two, wearing a dress exactly like one Anna had at the same age. So tiny. It made me smile, a little sadly, but mostly just with pleasure. I still remember the clothes she wore back as a baby, yes, but that is just the cover of the book. What she’s come to be inside those pages is so much more a wonder to me. She is beautiful, precocious, tempestuous, caring and bright as a star. 

And, for now, those are my kids at six, four and one… and counting.

Silvia, 54 months and counting

Princesses. Pink. Dresses. Parties. Pink. Adventure. Singing. Drawing. Pink.

Pink princess doll parties in dresses and skirts having adventures all over the world, captured in pink-centric art scattered to the winds in every direction.

Silvia is a girl’s girl. She spends her every moment (between sibling tiffs, artistic retreats and pouting fits) taking her dolls all over the house on fantastical journeys, singing them little nonsense songs with wardrobe changes at every destination. If I dare to interject a question about what they’re doing, she stares at me with a vaguely affronted look and says, “Mooooommy, I’m just plaaaaying”.

As in, leave me alone, woman, you’re interrupting my princess tower rebellion.

(On a side note, she just realized that Ken’s clothes come off. Princesses and a naked prince all a mix at the party. Ah, the innocence of youth.)

None of this is to imply that she is faint of heart or in anyway dainty. Dainty does not apply to Silvia. Cute, pretty, devilish and temperamental, yes. But not dainty. These adventures often have her princesses dangling off cliffs, jumping canyons and going off to college (all dangerous activities). She herself spends much of the day running laps around the house, up the stairs, down the stairs, across the couch, ad nauseum. Literally, her circling leaves me queasy.

Silvia cannot sit still. For the most part, unless enthralled by the magic of TV, she is constantly twitching, bouncing and twirling. This, hopefully, explains my somewhat guilty over-use of kid’s shows in the afternoon. If I don’t turn on Backyardigans, then she doesn’t turn OFF until she passes out in a lump somewhere in the house.

These impromptu naps are another one of Silvia’s trademarks. At four and a half years old, most kids have outgrown the afternoon nap, but not my blonde whirlwind. While she will vehemently refuse me if I ever dare to suggest it, Silvia puts herself down for a little rest more days than not every week. She will make a bed of pillows with a neatly straightened blanket, tuck herself underneath and sleep, oblivious to the world. Sometimes it comes on her stealthily and I will find her curled up on the hard tile of the front hall with her hands still outstretch towards a doll or asleep in the rocking chair of Jack’s nursery from one moment to the next when I turn away from her to change him.

In her last year of preschool now, Silvia is very excited for kindergarten next year, mostly so she can ride the bus with Anna. She’s more physically focused than Anna ever was and hasn’t started reading at all. That’s not to say she doesn’t know her letters and numbers, but it’s not in anyway the focus of her day. Still, she has her favorite stories half-memorized and will take the rare break during the day to sit and read two or three books cuddled up against me on the couch. She will be the athlete to Anna’s scholar.

An artist, a singer, a fighter, a lover, a darling and terror all at once, Silvia is my wonderland of childhood rolled up into one perfect little body.

On the move and feelin' fancy.

Jack, 13 months and counting

Jack's favorite foods are:
bananas
carrots
peaches
bagels
raisin bread with jam or peanut butter (MESSY)
pancakes
chicken
applesauce
hot dogs (nitrate-free and cut up, just in case you were worried)
raisins
spaghetti
pizza
cheddar cheese pieces, but not slices
cake, ice cream, cookies, etc. (in moderation)

Jack's most-hated foods are:
carrots
peaches
bagels
raisin bread with jam or with peanut butter (MESSY)
pancakes
chicken
applesauce
hot dogs (nitrate-free and cut up, just in case you were worried)
raisins
pizza
cheddar cheese pieces, but not slices
cake, ice cream, cookies, etc. (in moderation)

In case it's not immediately clear, the only things Jack will eat consistently are bananas and spaghetti. And yes, sometimes with one in each hand. To say he's picky, well-- that just about covers it. We rotate what he's offered throughout the week to try and keep everything in some level of favor, but there are times when he just won't eat anything except a banana and bottles of milk for days.

Little kids just DO that, though. They survive on air in between gorging on everything in sight including that ages old cheerio dug out from behind the couch. For all this appetite confusion, he is a happily growing boy. Even though he's still small for his age, falling around the 7th percentile for height and weight, he's perfectly healthy. I actually kind of like his smallness, just because it makes me feel like I can still enjoy the baby-ness of him a little longer while still having the fun of a near-toddler talking and grabbing and exploring.

And boy does he ever! Nothing in the house is safe. We had to buy a safety gate on practically a moment's notice when he went from being oblivious to the stairs to climbing up three steps and trying to stand up (he can't). Once the stairs were off limits, he turned to conquering the bathroom. We now have to keep the door closed at all times or he will, literally, climb into the toilet bowl. Charming.

Jack says hi, he waves, he smiles and giggles and thinks his sisters are the most wonderful thing in the world. When Kurt comes in the door at the end of the day, Jack crawls over lightening fast and gets up on his knees in front of his daddy, arms reaching high up and firmly crying to be held. He plays on his own, loves books and maracas and spends more time than I'd like blowing on the harmonica and toy recorder.

While he's not walking yet, Jack does push things around standing, lawnmower-style, and has progressed to walking unsteadily while holding only one of my hands. We travel in little gulps around the house through out the day as he tries to find and hold his center. He's almost there, I can just feel it. Because of the heat, he spends most of his time in just a diaper or, if he's feeling fancy, in a onesie. his knees have become rough from the hard floors and I imagine moving on to feet-based travel will be a relief.

He's still our little puppy, too, travelling around all the time with things tightly held between his 6 little teeth: paint brushes, his frog lovey, bagels, bottles, cups, socks, etc. Mostly it's cute and we leave him to it, but today I did draw the line when he came up to me with one of Anna's Crocs tightly between his lips.

My boy is a lover and I'm not bragging (ok, maybe just a little) when I say that I get the lion's share of that affection. He crawls all over me, climbs on me, hugs me, tickles me, dances with me... he loves me. He loves everyone else, too, but for the moment I'm still the special-est. I treasure every wet, slobbery kiss. Well, mostly. Sometimes the slobber is a BIT much.

"Would you like this paint brush? It's only a little drooly."

Belated Father's Day

Picture time and soon to come, a catch up

Here's a fairly random collection of recent pictures. I'm just getting my photos, internet and phone camera all sorted out here in Texas, so there will be more to come in explanations, especially concerning Silvia cleaning my house like a happy little not-so-downtrodden Cinderella.

And then there really were three

Our dear friend Charlotte at Trystan Photography snapped these pictures about 2 weeks before we left Colorado. Aren't my kids beautiful?