Leprechaun Magic

I know that there is many a mom out there who hates the recent Pintrest-inspired, Facebook-promoted explosion of holiday expectations for moms (and dads).  There was much public disdain for leprechaun mischief this past week, and the old Elf on the Shelf has more than a few enemies.  Of course, I am completely sympathetic to the fact that we moms do NOT need yet another thing added to our already overflowing plates, particularly something that involves naughty leprechauns or elves who make our houses messier than they already are!  But I'll be honest - I like making magic.  I love thinking of new funny spots for our elf, or dreaming up mischievous acts for our leprechaun, or designing an intricate treasure hunt courtesy of the Easter Bunny... Heck, I've been preparing for the Tooth Fairy's inaugural visit for years!  I have a special book (that Ethan will have certainly outgrown by the time his stubborn baby teeth decide to move on out), a special tooth pillow...I am ready!  And it's not because I'm trying to be Supermom or outdo anyone else - I admit that I would fail miserably at that.  It's because making magic is something that I truly enjoy doing.  I think I get more excited than my kids do on Christmas Eve, anticipating my boys' faces as they descend the stairs, when they realize that Santa really did come.  There is nothing like experiencing magic through a child's eyes - the wonder, the gaping grins, the eye twinkles...it's, well...magical.

So when my boys asked if we could try to catch a leprechaun earlier this week, I embraced it.  I helped them research leprechauns online, build a suitable trap, and fill it with things that might entice a naughty leprechaun.


And after they'd gone to bed, I tripped the trap (but also staged an escape route for our leprechaun), painted tiny green footprints on the floor, and filled the trap with coins and a note saying "Nice try!".
 

And when my boys woke up the next morning to see that the trap had been tripped, the giggles when they discovered the green footprints, the nervous excitement to peek into the trap, the glee at discovering the coins left inside...I ate up every moment.

And I wholeheartedly hope that me getting stupidly excited about holidays doesn't make some other mom feel inadequate, because this is just my thing.  I am lazy about cleaning my house, I totally mail it in when it comes to pretend play, and I make a terrible birthday cake.  But making magic....I'm good at that.

Part of me knows that I am clinging on to these traditions because I know they are fleeting.  Ethan made a cursory comment recently (then quickly redacted) which suggested that he has some inkling that Mom and Dad have at least some role in the Easter Bunny's antics.  He is seven, after all, and I'm not naive enough to believe that that magic twinkle in his eye will last forever.  We are dangling on the precipice of tweendom, and some days it feels like we already have a teenager in the house.  Favorite TV shows and books are suddenly "too babyish", playing pretend is less appealing, and the "I'm bored"s set in more quickly these days.  So I know.  I know my days with leprechauns and tooth fairies and bunnies and elves are numbered.  And so I'll take them now.  I'll take the extra hour of scrubbing to get that darn washable paint off the floor.  I'll take the jumping out of bed in the night to move that silly elf.  I'll take the late Christmas Eves building bikes and trampolines and wagons.  Because it's all part of being the parent of a little kid.  One of my favorite parts of being the parent of a little kid.  And though some days I wish it might, it can't last forever.

In Living Color

Since I was a little kid, I've been fascinated by genetics.  I've always known that both my brother and my uncle are color blind, and I remember my mom explaining to me, at a very young age, exactly how that had happened - how the color blindness gene travels on the X chromosome, why men with their single X chromosome are therefore far more likely to be color blind than are women who would need to have two "tainted" X chromosomes to exhibit color blindness.  All this was so interesting to me, and I remember learning about other similar sex-linked traits in high school biology and then in a semester-long genetics course at Colby.  While the genetics behind the transmission of color blindness is fascinating, the reality of the trait was never much of a big deal for my family.  Color blindness was a party trick - people loved asking Paul "what color is this?", "what color is this?", "now what about this?", and he was a good sport until it got really old and he wasn't.  But it was never an issue for Paul - he has adapted and learned which colors he can recognize and which he can't and lives a perfectly normal life despite his inability to see the range of colors that most people do.  When Paul was in preschool, however, one of his teachers expressed some concern over his learning capabilities because he couldn't seem to grasp his colors.  And later, when Cuisenaire rods were en vogue among math teachers, he was at a disadvantage because he couldn't immediately recognize the orange ten or automatically distinguish the yellow five from the green six.  So while color blindness really shouldn't matter, it can, particularly in early childhood education, where so much of the learning is focused on and around color.  And so I find myself mulling over all this the other night as I fill out Adam's kindergarten (gasp!) paperwork.  A question reads: "Does your child have any known or suspected vision problems?" and I hastily check "No", as I have to all the questions before it.  But then I pause, and think, and erase my answer, instead checking the "Yes" box and writing "color blindness suspected" beneath it. 

We have assumed that Adam is color blind for a long time.  According to the rules of genetics, I had a 50% chance of carrying the color blindness gene, and if I had that gene, each of my children would have a 50% chance of being color blind.  I forget exactly how additive probabilities work, but I'm pretty sure that means that there was a 50% chance that at least one of my children would be color blind.  Unlike letters, numbers, words, and shapes, colors came slow to Adam.  Some of the first words Adam read were those on his markers and crayons - his inability to distinguish a brown crayon from a green crayon motivated him to read their names to give him a clue.  I notice him making the common mistakes that Paul makes - green for brown, light blue for pink, gray for violet.  But Adam seems unfazed by his inability to see colors in the way that most of us do.  He adapts, learns new tricks to identify colors, and asks for help when he needs it.  The other day, he was working on a Perler bead design and was having a lot of trouble finding bright yellow beads in his mishmash box of colors.  So he asked me to pull out one bright yellow bead, and he carefully placed it to the side.  Then I watched him, with painstaking effort, take out bead after bead and place each one next to the bright yellow bead for comparison.  I watched him bend down close to the beads, with his little nose almost touching them, trying to determine whether he'd found the right color.  It was endearing, and I was so proud of his effort. 

Adam's efforts don't get him all the way there, and he still mistakes his colors more often than not.  When he asks for help he says, "Mommy, can you help?   'Cause I don't see colors so well."  What I should tell him is that he see colors just fine.  Colors are subjective, and who knows whether the purple I see looks like the purple you see, or whether it really is purple at all. 

I know that this little Easter egg was "supposed" to be pastel green, but who's to say it shouldn't be tan instead?  All I do know is that we have one little determined almost-kindergartner who won't let a little color blindness stand in his way. 

February Moments

In June, we'll have lived in our house for six years.  And for six years, I've looked at this every time I close the door to the boys' bathroom:

And I've often thought to myself, "I should really paint over that."  But yet it remains, partly because I am lazy and have too many other more important things on my to-do list, but partly because it somehow feels wrong to paint over it.  We have our own little growth chart going at the top of the basement stairs, and it makes me sad to think that someday someone else will live in this house and will inevitably erase my boys' names and the physical record of just how tall they were at various points in their childhood.

These snapshots, these moments in time that we parents record and document, these are our way of freezing time, if only for a split second.  These are our attempts to capture just a few of the infinite number of moments we'd like to capture, to turn this parenting experience into a string of memories that will stay with us forever.

As the boys get older and life gets busier and "big" milestones are fewer and farther between, turning to my little blog to document our life is not as automatic as it once was.  With less to "report", weeks whiz by before I think to write.  But I am always happy when I do - happy to look over photos we've taken on our phones (gone are the days when we dragged out our big camera for extensive baby photo sessions), happy to reflect on all that we've been up to, and happy to force myself to mull over this whole parenting journey for a bit.  And when it's all said and done, and the growth chart at the top of our stairs is long painted over, I want a record.  I want this record, not just of the big "firsts", but of all the little moments that I will surely forget along the way.  Tonight, I am savoring these little moments from the last few weeks:

No school on Valentine's Day, and lots of extra time with my valentines.

Our medal count tally!  The boys had so much fun researching and drawing some of the countries' flags and recording the medals won.

Date nights, and weekends away

Finding this smiley face in a dying plant.  Apparently our Adam thought this plant was happier once he watered it.

Hearing nice words about my kid.

Being served a homemade stir fry and tea at Adam's school Chinese New Year party.

And watching adorable preschoolers sing and dance and speak Chinese.

Maine winters.  OK, I'm aware that comment's not making me any friends, but I love me some Maine winter.  Until March.  Then I'm ok with spring.

Ethan's first sleepover!

Friday night dates with my little men while my big man brings home the bacon at his poker tournies.

And more date nights (and grandparents who are forever willing to babysit!)

A new obsession in our house: trading NFL player cards.

Sorry, Sorry, and more Sorry.  It doesn't get old (nor do the costumes)!

OK, maybe I'm a little bit sick of winter...

An amazing February vacation week at the Duck House - ski school every morning and activity-packed afternoons.  This guy started the week on the bunny slope and ended it on the black diamonds!

And this one couldn't stay out of the terrain park.

Being able to all ski together.

Winter or not...testing out new bikes!

A fun weekend at Grandma and Grandpa's with the Ferenc family including many, many runs down our custom world-class luge course.

Big cousins showing little cousins how to rainbow loom.

And boy cousins getting into lots of trouble with a whole bottle of shampoo and the whirlpool.

A friendly visitor who liked Grandma's coconut cream pie almost as much as we did.

Finding love notes from my lovebug everywhere.  If you read this from bottom to top, you'll see it says "Adam loves you."

My growing, happy boys!

Teach, Your Children Well

I will be the first to admit I could never homeschool my children.  Those that do are very patient saints, or must have an entirely different relationship with their kids than I do with mine.  Seven plus years into this motherhood journey, I can now acknowledge the traits that make me a good mom - I am a nurturer, a good listener, a cheerleader, an organizer, a referee, a supporter, a fun-planner.  A teacher...I am not.

As is typical for them, my boys have completely different learning styles.  Ethan has a will of steel and will attempt to muscle through any challenge, determined to succeed and willing it to be so.  And when sheer will does not suffice, he crumbles in despair, refusing to accept help or comfort.  Adam, on the other hand, approaches challenges with a significantly more laissez-faire attitude.  He'll give nearly anything a go, but is just as willing to walk away when things don't come easily.  He is naturally attracted to things he is good at, and leaves the rest behind without much thought.  He tires easily and does not have the blind stick-to-it-ness that often brings his brother to tears.  When forced to stick to it, and to push through a challenge he meets, Adam also crumbles in despair.  A quieter, lazier despair, but a crumbling despair nonetheless.  And it turns out that either type of crumbling, particularly on a ski slope, or at a skating rink, or at the bottom of a sledding hill, or in the middle of a challenging handicraft (e.g. rainbow loom, perler beads, origami, or some other such hobby created to drive parents mad) is a pet peeve of mine.

Although I have been aware of my teaching ineptitude for quite some time, I continue to find (put?) myself in situations where my boys need some teaching.  Last week I had the grand idea to take Adam to Shawnee Peak for the day, just him and me, to tackle the magic carpet and the bunny slope, over and over and over.  A day with just mom and this beginner skier will surely master the slopes, I thought.  All four of us will be skiing the blues together in no time!  How silly I am.  About a third of the way down that first run, I realized just how silly.  I was sweating, he was sweating, he was crumbling and crumpling, I was yelling and yanking and yelling some more.  (As an aside, I think I've finally learned that yelling "get up!" at a child who has fallen while skiing/skating/whatever is about as effective of a parenting strategy as yelling "go to sleep!" to a child who's having trouble at bedtime.)  In short, we were both having a miserable time.  Ethan would have just pushed through it in a solo fit of rage, and I would have left him alone, in my own silent frustration.  But Adam is different.  At one point he just looked up at me with such innocent eyes and said "I'm trying Mommy - I just don't know what to do!"  It was enlightening and heartbreaking all at the same time.  And at that moment I decided to stop fighting him and try, instead, to join his team.  Imagine that!  I suddenly saw a little five year old who was trying his hardest and was just gosh darn tired.  I acknowledged how hard he'd been working, and gave him a break.  We went in for an early lunch, put our feet up for a bit, bought one of those do-hickeys that holds ones tips together, and met the rest of the day with a whole different perspective and set of expectations.  And just like that, the day turned around on a dime.  Things started to click for both of us - Adam suddenly figured out his wedge and I began to understand, just a little bit, what motivated this child of mine. What to say and what not to say, where he needed direction and how to deliver it, how to boost his confidence.  It's embarrassing and alarming to admit that I am learning this five years into our relationship, but I suppose it is better late than never.

So while I still recognize my limits, and fully intend to leave the teaching to the teachers, I feel a little more prepared for our next adventure.  On the way home that day Adam asked when we could go again, telling me how much he loved skiing.  I was so thankful that his reflections on the day were positive, as mine were, and that we didn't succumb to our frustrations and give up before we got to enjoy learning together.  And while I started the day feeling frustrated and helpless, I finished it feeling fulfilled and happy and proud.  Proud of my Adam for learning to ski, and proud of his mama for learning how to teach him.

"I got this, Mommy."

Snacks are always a good idea.

Ethan willing himself though a water obstacle course

And determined to be good on skates 

This picture sums up my boys' personalities perfectly.

And I love how their personalities complement each other; together they are an unstoppable team!

Birthday Buddies

Today I am 38.  I have always been into celebrating birthdays, particularly my own.  But the last time I celebrated my birthday in a big way was eight years ago, when I turned thirty.  It went something like this:

And then the next year, everything was different. 

I celebrated my 31st birthday with the best present I could ever receive strapped to my chest, and I couldn't have been happier.  Suddenly, someone else's birthday, just six days before mine, was so much more important than my own.  And while I still relish the love and celebration my birthday brings, and eat up every ounce of affection, calls, gifts, singing, flowers, and cake, it is now my children's birthdays that hold an extra special place in my heart.  Because as each year passes, I get the opportunity to pause and reminisce about the wonder of the moments they came into my life, appreciate how much they have grown, and celebrate the little humans they have become.  And so, on this my 38th birthday, the long overdue birthday post for my newly seven year old.

At 8:54 (our birthday boy insisted upon looking up the exact time in his baby book this year) on Saturday morning, Ethan turned seven years old.  And we celebrated our big boy all day long.  Ethan didn't want a friend party this year, instead opting for his grandparents and Uncle Paul and Lori to join him at the movies, followed by taco night.  So after lunch at Wendy's and an afternoon showing of the The Nut Job (front row - eek - guess we weren't the only ones with the movie idea on a snowy Saturday), we fiesta-ed at our house with sombreros and a piñata and lots of yummy Mexican food.  We toasted our Ethan, who changed us all seven years ago, making us parents and grandparents and uncles for the first time, filling our hearts with a love that has only grown since.  And as I tucked my newly seven year old into bed on Saturday night, I told him the story of his birth, and how seeing him for the first time was probably the happiest moment of my life, and how his Daddy held him with pride for hours afterwards.  I reminded him that he was the one who made me a Mommy, and that his birthday will forever be a very important day, not just for him, but also for me.  Like he does every birthday, Ethan hugged me and told me it was his best birthday ever.  

At seven, Ethan:

• Still has all his baby teeth.  He predicts he'll lose his first tooth in February but his dentist thinks it will be awhile yet.
• Is a kind and loyal friend.  He doesn't have a "best" friend, nor a single enemy.  His teacher says he is a friend to all in his class and often seeks out kids who need a friend.
• Loves to build and create.  Legos, geomags, Perler beads, rainbow loom, more Legos... Anything that has an instruction book and a finished product makes this kid happy.  But some of his best creations are those he makes when he tosses the instructions aside and just builds.  I love that Ethan (and Adam) somehow acquired a creativity gene that exists in neither of their Type A parents.
• Would eat the same lunch every day if he could - bagel with cream cheese or PB&J, bell peppers, an apple, and a squeezy yogurt.  Ethan also loves "Thai food" (which is his name for Pad Thai), Mommy's mac 'n cheese, yogurt with granola, and BBQ beef sandwiches.
• Loves with his whole body.  When he was a toddler, Ethan would do this funny thing where he would hug Adam hard, clench his teeth, and shake.  It was almost as if he was overcome with affection and didn't really know how to channel it.  While he has mostly outgrown that (with the exception of the occasional cheek grab), he still hugs hard and with his whole being.  He is a sensitive and emotional guy (like his Daddy) and loves deep.  At seven, although school and friends are fun, I am happy to report that Ethan is still all about his family. 
• Is growing like a weed.  Taller and leaner by the day, our big boy has outgrown most of the pants we bought him this fall.
• Excels at math, adding two and three digit numbers in his head.  I am relieved that math is a piece of cake for this boy, as he gets easily frustrated if he doesn't immediately understand something.  Ethan is at his best when he's confident.
• Loves books.  Ethan recently got a lamp that clips to the side of his bed, and he loves to read to himself or his brother at night. But he also still loves being read to, and together we devour chapter books.  He's particularly into the A to Z mysteries, Notebook of Doom, and Geronimo Stilton series.
• Has gotten more courageous with his writing.  He doesn't always get it right, but he tries, and the results are often quite comical.  (e.g., he wrote that he got a smntmcsare (cement mixer) for Christmas and that he played outsiad with his nybras (neighbors)).
• Can't get enough of the schoolbus.  The ride is ridiculously long, but nonetheless, he begs to stand out in the cold and wait for that bus even when I offer to drive him.  He packs rainbow loom supplies and drawing pads and loves the extra time to socialize with his neighbor friends.
• Has a flare for the dramatic.  Nail clipping and shampoo rinsing can often bring tears, and you would have thought our head lice epidemic was a bout with the plague.  These are great opportunities for life lessons about how lucky we are to have head lice be our biggest problem.
• Is suddenly obsessed with sports, particularly football.  He loves watching football with Daddy, reading books about famous football players, setting up his Legos in football formations, and memorizing team names, colors, and logos.  
• Loves to move his body.  Dancing to Top 40 music in the dark with glowing toys and flashlights is probably his favorite activity de jour.  But he also adores soccer, skiing, skating, riding his bike, climbing trees, sledding, tossing a football, and just being outside.
• Is always ready for a celebration.  Ethan likes anything special and out of the ordinary - movie night, taco night, game night, a slumber party by the Christmas tree...these simple celebrations bring great joy to our boy.
• Is pensive, responsible, earnest, kind, self-assured, silly, competitive, trustworthy, thoughtful, and mature.
• Is at perhaps the most golden of ages.  So while each birthday is bittersweet, this one seems more sweet than bitter.  I am beyond proud of the seven year old Ethan is, so honored to be his Mom, and nothing but excited for all the fun ahead.  Seven is heaven and I am just going to enjoy the next 357 days of it.  

Ethan, as I tell you every night, we love you to the moon and back, forever and ever.  You were the best birthday present I received in my 38 years on this earth, and have made me the person I am today.  Happiest seventh birthday to you, my sweet boy.

And in Ethan's words, here's a rundown of his faves on the brink of his eighth year (last year's answers in parentheses):

Ethan, Age 6
Weight: 56 lbs (49 lbs)
Height: 50.5 inches (47 inches)
1. What is your favorite color?  Red (Blue)
2. What is your favorite toy?  Cement mixer, Legos, rocket ship-building kit (The garbage truck and the crane)
3. What is your favorite fruit?  Tomatoes (Raspberries) 
4. What is your favorite TV show? Paw Patrol and Wild Kratts (Curious George)
5. What is your favorite thing to eat for lunch?  Peanut butter and jelly (Blueberry or cranberry bagel)
6. What is your favorite outfit?  Robot shirt and "you know Mom - those pants" [black track pants with red stripe down the side] (T-Rex shirt with navy sweatpants)
7. What is your favorite game?  Rummikub (Ten-zei) 
8. What is your favorite snack?  Squeezy yogurt (Squeezy yogurt and popcorn)
9. What is your favorite animal?  Elephant (Elephant)
10. What is your favorite song?  BINGO  (I don't have a favorite song.)
11. What is your favorite book?  Ride Fly Guy Ride (The Circus Ship)
12. Who is your best friend?  Owen and Josh (Dylan Tolli)
13. What is your favorite cereal?  Shredded Spoonfuls (Shredded Spoonfuls)
14. What is your favorite thing to do outside?  Ski (Ride bikes)
15. What is your favorite drink?  Orange juice (Milk and water)
16. What is your favorite holiday?  Christmas, my birthday, and Easter..."when I get things" (Christmas, no wait, my birthday)
17. What do you like to take to bed with you at night?  Nothing (Birdie and Clipper)
18. What is your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?  An English muffin with peanut butter and marmalade (Granola)
19. What would you like to have for a special birthday dinner?  Tacos, mac 'n cheese, or Thai food (Tacos)
20. What do you want to be when you grow up?  A construction worker (A construction worker) [This one's holding real steady - three years in a row.]