Hollis's ears stick out a bit, just like his father's. Our very observant 3 year old has now noticed. At dinner tonight he declared that, "Hollis has elf ears!" When Hollis protested, Holden stood up, pointed us to a photo of Hollis and said, "See? Elf ears!"
We were not successful in holding back the laughter, although we did assure Hollis that elf ears are much more pointy.
This year I officially became a soccer mom. I signed my two boys,
ages 5 and 3, up for Y soccer. For my 3 year old, Holden, this is a
first attempt at a team sport.
Holden had several months of swimming lessons this Summer and actually sat still, listened to his instructor and generally cooperated. So we decided to raise the stakes a bit and try soccer. The Y program is geared towards 3 to 5 yearolds and it's only once a week. Every Saturday they have a 30 minute practice and then a 30 minute "game." The kids rotate in and out every 7 minutes or so. We thought this would be a good way to ease Holden into a sport.
Wrong.
The first Saturday wasn't bad. Holden only wandered off of the field about 10 times. He generally paid attention, although he found it necessary to play in the goal net every time he got near it. He also picked up the ball whenever it ended up in a scrum of 3 and 4 year olds. He thought it was much more efficient to just pick it up than to try to kick it. Holden was, at least, a great source of amusement for all of the parents at the soccer field!
Read the rest of this post at D.C. Metro Moms.
Well, it's actually two boys and their dog, but "a boy and his dog" just sounds better, don't you think?
We got Buddy a few days ago. We've been talking about getting the boys a dog for awhile now in a very abstract sort of way. But after the break-in, I decided it was time to make it a reality. Of course, up until the bitter end Holden was insisting that he didn't want a dog, he wanted a sheep and then a hamster. But now that Buddy is here, he's gotten on board with the whole dog thing.
I promise I'll post some video soon because it is just too darn cute when Buddy goes galloping after Hollis or Holden on his stumpy little legs with his ears flopping around.
In Christianity, the twelve days of Christmas and its festivities begin the evening of December 25th, Christmas Day, and run through the morning of January 6th, otherwise known as Epiphany. Epiphany is a feast celebrating the revelation of God to mankind in human form, as Jesus Christ. In fact, in the Eastern Christian church, January 6th is still treated as the day of Jesus's birth and is celebrated as such.
Growing up, my Louisiana family always treated the Christmas season as if it ran until January 6th. I just assumed it was because the Mardi Gras season started the next day. God and Jesus didn't play much of a role in leaving our decorations up until a week and a half after Christmas Day. Clearly, we were a family of heathens and my family's "tradition" didn't mean much to me. As an adult, however, the Twelfth Day of Christmas has come to mean so much more.
On Twelfth Night in 2006, I couldn't sleep. I was 8 months pregnant and scheduled to deliver the next morning. On the eve of the birth of my second son I was worried, of course. Worried that we were having our children too close together. (We were.) Worried that we were going to be overwhelmed. (We were.) And worried that our oldest was getting the short end of the stick and would suffer from the loss of our undivided attention. (We were first time parents. Give us a break!)
I also worried that I couldn't possibly love another child as much as I loved my first.
Continue reading The Twelth Day of Christmas....
Here are some things that I heard from my 4 year old today:
"Brother did it!"
"I prefer the light on, Mommy."
"Mmmmmm. I love the smell of books."
"I know kung fu."
"Barney is kind of creepy."
"I love onion rings. Except for the onion part."
"I never get to do anything."
Holden, my two year old, has picked up an interesting quirk. (Aside from pretending he's a cat, that is.) Whenever we're heading to the sitter's house or out running errands, he tries to direct me down a different road. He knows the way home, but he wants to go "de odder way, Mommy. Dat way. Nooooo, DAT way!"
Holden's urge to explore and try new things has always baffled me. He may be the youngest of my boys, but he's always the first to hurtle head first down the slide or climb to the top of the monkey bars and jump off. He's the toddler equivalent of those wacky people who sky dive for fun *cough*mycousinAdam*cough* or pick up race car driving on the side. You know, because they're bored.
I freak out on the mildest of roller coasters, so I just don't get it. I remember my high school boyfriend once talking me into riding some horribly named roller coaster at Six Flags in Chicago. It was called the Demon or the Devil or something cursed like that. I was fine until we started heading up to the first drop. Then, I started hitting my boyfriend and screaming at him for talking me into it. It's not the height of the roller coaster that bothers me on that first big drop. It's the plummet to my possible death that follows.
Hollis, is very much like me. T, is also much like me, although he can be goaded and dared into at least riding roller coasters. Still, Holden and his toddler thrill seeking, adventuresome ways, are a puzzle to us and our easy routines. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan or risk and daring, but not of the physical sort. For the most part, in a hurry to go somewhere or do something, I tend to ignore Holden's requests to go exploring.
Today, however, was a lazy Sunday.
Wildfires from North Carolina have been sending smoke up here for the last two weeks and the air quality is pretty bad, so the boys and I lazed around and then picked up lunch for T and ate with him at his office. (Because, of course, after finally retiring from the Navy Reserves and those annoying weekend drills, he'd have a serious crunch with his "real" job.) After the boys ripped T's office apart and started in on the conference room with the dry erase markers, we packed them up to head home. Neither of the boys was happy about this because they knew it would be N A P T I M E when we got home.
About 1/2 a mile from our house, Holden started directing me to turn down various roads. For once, I decided to comply and turn down a street we'd never traversed before. T and I had wondered if there was a residential area hiding back there, so the boys and I went exploring.
Hollis was very concerned that we were no longer heading home and kept telling me that we shouldn't go too far and "we might get lost, Mommy." Anyone want to guess who my worrier is? Holden was having a grand old time pointing out the cars and the houses, but he's usually game for anything that keeps him away from nap time.
After 10 minutes of driving around an ugly subdivision of 1950's cookie cutter houses, I'd had enough and we headed home. About to turn back on the road to our house, Holden demanded I turn the other way again. Hollis began lecturing his brother in the way that only a know-it-all toddler can,
"No brother. We're going home now. It's time for your nap time." (Imagine this complete with snooty, "I am older than you and must torment you" brotherly inflections.)
Holden, predictably, objected and the boys started arguing in the back seat. Sitting at the stop sign, I refereed, telling Hollis that Holden likes to explore. Hollis replied with,
"Well, I like my house."
Doesn't that sum it up nicely?
Risking the wrath of Hollis, I turned back down a new road that dead ended after about 400 yards. As I was turning around, both boys got super excited at a bird that had landed on a nearby fence. A cardinal.
It wasn't anything special to me, but to the boys the spotting of a bright red bird was a thing of wonder and magic. We sat and watched the bird with the windows down until it flew away. It was probably driven away by Holden's high pitched screaming of, "Here, birdy! Here birdy!" but H&H enjoyed it anyway.
As we headed home with no objection from the boys, I contemplated how important Holden is to our family. He's the irresistible force that makes us orbit and, strangely, keeps us grounded. He reminds me daily to take time to enjoy the small moments of life. He reminds us all to take risks, even if they aren't of the physical sort.
As I settled the boys in for their nap, I learned that Hollis had also been thinking about our encounter with the red cardinal. As I gave him a kiss he asked me, "Mommy, that red bird was pretty, wasn't it?" I agreed. As Hollis turned over and closed his eyes, I hoped that he would dream of climbing up to the top of the monkey bars with his brother.
And jumping off to fly.
Hollis started swimming lessons this week. I dreaded and anticipated this week in equal parts.
I've written many times about Hollis and his introversion, his fear of new things, his reticence around new people and in new situations. We've had mixed results around water up until now. I want my boys to love the water like I do, but I've worried about Hollis and his reluctance to try new things.
At the beach last Summer, Hollis never wanted to go in the water. The "beach party," as he always refers to our beach trips, was all about playing in the sand. This year I can't seem to keep him out of the ocean.
In fact, when we're at the beach, I have to stand out in the water and turn him around every time he gets out to me, to keep him from going in over his head. Between Hollis and Hurricane "I am invincible" Holden, life guarding my two children is now a full time job. (Not a lot of Bacardi drinking has been happening at the beach this year.)
In our pool at home, Hollis was a bit more adventurous last Summer. He liked to have T drop him off the diving board into my arms, but he didn't want to blow bubbles or try to float for me. This year, we have a little issue with the pool - to the tune of $6000 for a new liner - that won't be fixed until late July because of order time. H&H do go swimming in their sitter's pool, but Hollis is always more fearless around Miss M's boys, whom he adores. So, going into swimming lessons, we weren't really sure what to expect.
I shouldn't have been worried.
On the first day, Hollis joined right in. Despite being the youngest in his swim class, he sat on the side of the pool and patiently waited for his turn. When his swim instructor asked him his name he proudly informed her that he was "Hollis G--- N------" and that he was 6 years old. (He's 3 and he knows he's 3, but is constantly trying to convince everyone else that he's older.)
The instructors had everyone swim and kick for them and separated the class out by ability. Hollis is with the big kids. Frankly, this former competitive swimmer couldn't be more proud!
He gamely tries everything his instructors ask. He kicks, he blows bubbles, he jumps into the pool, he dunks himself under water, all with a huge grin on his face.
He loves it!
I'm so proud of my Big H for trying new things and being so brave. This seems to be a new trend for him. As he gets older, he becomes so much more confident in himself and he needs us less. It's bittersweet for me.
Ah, but it's oh so wonderful for Hollis.
Her name is Patches. Hollis picked her out, so he named her Patches, despite the fact that she really doesn't have any patches. But the name seems to suit her anyway.
Yes, she does look an awful lot like Pandy, with white whiskers, white socks, and a white belly. But her cutest feature is totally unique - a little white diamond between her eyes. I thought of all sorts of clever names for her, but I guess the days of actually getting to name our pets are over!
Patches is a rescue kitten and comes with a host of health problems. Our vet tells us she has roundworm, lungworm, and a respiratory virus. We have to keep her isolated from Hilly until she's better. But Patches has made a little boy very happy.
If you're interested, I'm pissing off people left and right on D.C. Metro Moms Blog. I seem to have started a small mommy war. Oops.
I have a blogger to introduce.
I know. I see you nodding and thinking, "Yeah, yeah, Steph, but my Google Reader is already about to explode. I just can't give any more." I promise you, you'll want to make an exception.
I am a bit biased. You see, this new "Mommy Blogger" is my cousin. I wrote her a "welcome to motherhood" post shortly before her adorable daughter burst into her world and many of you have seen her comment here on my blog. You may even have followed her link, only to find an empty blog.
Well, it isn't empty anymore.
If you're looking for a new blog that talks about how wonderful life is and how fulfilling and exciting motherhood is, hers is not the blog for you. But chances are, if you're a regular reader here, you'd vomit all over the floor if someone insisted to you that crayons and play doh are more fulfilling to you than any career, dreams, or aspirations you had before becoming a parent.
DM doesn't do puppy dogs, rainbows, and perfect Christmas newsletters. She's a member of my family. We teach sarcasm and pessimism in the womb. Hell, my aunts and uncles even have an informal competition to see who can send out the most twisted Christmas card each year. (For the record, no one has yet topped D&D's card sent out after Hurricane Katrina. It featured my cousin, holding a rifle, in front of the garage spray painted with "Looters will be shot on sight." I'll scan it in some time.)
Oh, and in case you were wondering, DM is not the cousin who was arrested at my grandmother's funeral. No, DM is more likely to get arrested at a protest rally. Or at least she was pre-baby. DM is the person we all wished we could be. She's done everything, from massage therapy to modeling. She was the only bridesmaid in my wedding with purple hair. She's traveled everywhere. (I will never be able to erase that photo of her eating the huge spider from my mind.) She's an incredibly talented photographer and a great writer.
Now, she'll be a great blogger.
If the thought of a minivan and "mom jeans" are enough to make you throw up a little in your mouth, go read Defiant Muse.
Now DM is thinking, "Dear God, WHY did I tell her about the blog?" Just be glad I don't have a scanner at home, DM. It could be worse. This is the only photo I have of you on my computer right now and at least you're not the one wearing a hideously poofy dress that you picked out. I have a new review of The Ultimate Tea Diet up on Lawyer Mama Review. I was skeptical going in, but it really works. Go check it out.
I also have new photos up on Lawyer Mama Dabbles. Well, they're not exactly new, but what I did to them is! Want to see a vintage Holden? How about a chocolate and lilac Hollis?
Finally, I have to thank everyone for your emails, comments, and hugs since Pandy got sick. Hell, I have to thank all y'all for your unflagging support all the time. I neglect your blogs for weeks at a time. I post sporadically or post only nonsense and you keep coming back just to let me know you're listening. You open up your homes to me (yeah, I'm looking at you, Joanne and Heather!). You call me and send me your phone numbers. Or you just let me know that you're there.
You have no idea how much all of this means to me. Or maybe you do. Either way, there's a house next door to me for sale if anyone wants to buy it. I'd be thrilled to have any of you as neighbors. And for me, that says a lot!
************
Last night was the culmination of weeks of dread. Ever since we got that little slip of paper from Hollis's preschool, I've been nervous as hell. The reason for my anxiety?
Parent Teacher Conferences
That's right. For 3 year olds.
As a child, I was never worried about conferences. I was a nerd model student. Even if I hadn't been, I can usually handle criticism. (Cognitive dissonance works great. You should try it.) But the thought of listening to someone tell me what my baby is doing wrong makes my heart race and my brow break out in a sweat.
It's not that I think Hollis is perfect. To the contrary, I know he's not. I know he's the youngest in his class and that he's probably behind most of them. I know that he's an introvert but he tends to get pumped up and rowdy (and stop listening) when he's in a comfortable environment. I don't know which option frightened me more, hearing that he was completely comfortable to the point of disobedience and insolence or hearing that he was too shy to fully participate.
Well, having actually been in his classroom and witnessed The Toddler in his native habitat, I knew it was more likely we'd be hearing about behavior techniques to get him to listen. I just don't want to be the mom to "That Child." Not that I think we couldn't handle it, but knowing that Holden is far, far worse than his brother, I would be completely freaked out to discover that Hollis is a behavior problem in school!
Plus, every time I go into school as Hollis's "mother" I feel like a teenager masquerading as a parent. Does anyone else feel like this or is this some bizarre personal psychological reaction to schools and bulletin boards?
Hollis's teacher also keeps asking me to call her by her first name and I, stupidly, keep calling her Mrs. N and writing "Mrs. N" on notes to her. I probably make her feel like a grandmother masquerading as a teacher, but really, when did I become the adult? I still feel like I'm not allowed to call a teacher by her first name!
Anyway, it turns out that my fears were groundless. Hollis's teacher told us that, yes, he is young and has a few problems with things a few of the kids have mastered, but he's constantly showing improvement. Hollis is happy and cheerful and obedient (for the most part) and plays well with the other kids. Whew! I mean, we knew Hollis was happy, but it's nice to hear confirmation from his teacher. And to hear that she likes him. We all want our children to be liked, don't we?
At the end of the conference, Mrs. N shared something with us that she calls the "Tell Me" sheet. It's a list of questions she asks the kids and then she records the answers. It starts with basic things like name, age, favorite color, etc.... (By the way, Hollis is still insisting that he's 5. At least he's consistent.) Then she asked him things like, "What makes you happy or sad?" and, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Hollis, to his credit, didn't answer the, "What do you want to be?" question. Honestly, I wouldn't know how to answer if you asked me and I'm 35. How do you answer a question like that? "I want to be happy/thin/tall/a princess/a fireman?" I don't know. On the way home, I decided to ask Hollis the question again, worded a bit differently. Being a creative genius, I asked Hollis, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" My literal-minded toddler answered without missing a beat, "Drink coffee and soda."
That's my boy!
There were a few answers on Hollis's "Tell Me" sheet that cracked us up. For the question, "What do daddies do?" Hollis answered, "Go to work and eat chocolate. I went to Daddy's office and he gave me some chocolate and it was yummy and crunchy." Clearly the kitchen in T's office has made an impression.
In response to, "What do Mommies do," Hollis replied, "Take baths and eat popsicles." Oy. It's time to start indoctrinating the toddler. Does anyone have a copy of The Feminine Mystique that I could borrow? Or maybe I should start out with some Wollstonecraft? Do they publish A Vindication of the Rights of Woman in a picture book?
Hollis redeemed himself towards the end though. His answer to, "What is pretty?" was "Mommy and her smile." Say it with me now, everyone, "Awwwwwwwwww!" When his teacher followed up with, "What makes her pretty?" Hollis's response was, "Her hair and her hair clip."
T was a little disturbed about Hollis's public acknowledgement of his obsession with my accessories. The kid loves to wear my necklaces, hair clips and headbands, and shoes. Clearly, there's hope for my boy!
