Is that right?  It hardly seems so.

A few hours passed in a sleepless blur…

…and then you were one.  Four teeth, on the brink of taking those first steps.

I blinked and you were a walking, talking two year old.

I read your favorite book and glanced up…you were three.  Brimming with creativity, opinions and attitude!

We played a round of hide and seek.  When I found you, you were four.  Like this little tiny grown up.  At least you like to think so.

It is incredible how quickly time passes.  I don’t notice it day to day, but when I look back in all that you’ve accomplished in four short years, I feel amazed, proud, and a little bit sad.  You are a “preschooler” now, no longer do you fall under the “toddler” category.  I dread the day when I have to cross the border at Walmart.  You know, the one between the baby section and the boys.  Or when you no longer fit the “Baby” clothes at stores like Old Navy and Gap Kids.  I just need a little bit longer to savor little feet and dimpled hands.

Somewhere along the way this past year, you learned to dress yourself.  I can do it myself.  Demanding independence, yet screeching for help out of frustration.  You learned to count much higher and took to a fascination in reading numbers.  Mailboxes, signs, houses, you had to know what the number said.  Then came letters.  Almost like magic, you know what nearly every word starts with.  The favorite overheard ‘rest time’ phrase now is “Moooom.  I have an important word that starts with <insert letter here> …pause… <insert word here>”  You officially gave up napping.  I stopped fighting to get you to sleep for a nap, and a lot of the nighttime struggle cleared up.  We’ve managed to find a careful balancing act with a ‘rest time,’ which gives you enough down/quiet time during the day to not be a holy terror by bedtime.  You sit in bed and “read” books that you have memorized.

You are so preoccupied with being grown up.  You want to eat as fast as we do, be as tall as we are…at least you still seek my comfort from a villain like Cruella Deville.  You love to help with all the grown up tasks.  I wish I thought it was half as fun as you do to toss laundry in the dryer or start the dishwasher.  Vacuuming is a favorite.  You get so carried away, you can’t help but run and laugh the whole time.  Your new found friend is my new found cordless stick vacuum coming in at about three pounds.  You live to kill the battery in that thing.

Despite the rush you are in to grow up, you still see it unfit to stay in your own bed past 3am through the night.  Shhh.  Don’t tell anyone.  I love it.  I read a 300 page book about toddler and preschool sleep solutions.  I learned  a lot.  Including that I cherish the time I have with you and I wouldn’t change it for the world.  On occasion, I actually manage to sleep through you crawling across me.  I realized that no longer having a middle of the night visitor will be a bittersweet day.

It seemed like one day, you woke up and just had to know why.  Why the sky was blue.  Why toilets flushed.  Why dogs have fur.  Why our ceilings are white.  Why, why, why.  You exhaust me with questions every day.  I have to remind myself that the whys are essential to homeschooling and a love of learning.  But sometimes my brain hurts by 11 am the end of the day.

You make me smile.  Every day.

You make me laugh.  Every day.

I was watching from the kitchen a few days ago as your dad had a stern talk with you.  I don’t even remember the subject.  The late afternoon sun was pouring in the door directly behind the two of you.  You were standing in the doorway glaring up at him silently with your hands on your hips and a defiant lip poked out.  However inappropriate a time it was for a picture, I sure do wish I could have snuck a snapshot of that moment.  Instead I stiffled my giggles and just watched, capturing it in my head.

Last night I gave you extra hugs and kisses, which would probably be closer to 8 hugs and 30 kisses, rather than the regular, say, 3 and 20 I usually give, respectively. I knew when I saw your bright eyes next, you’d be four.  As I hugged you close, you said “I love you sooo much Mommy.  I even love you in my sleep.”  I said, “Oh yeah?”  “Yep,” you replied. ”Sometimes I say I love you while I’m sleeping.”

I’ll see you in our dreams.  Happy Birthday Bud.

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Happy fourth birthday to my sweet boy.  Four years ago this very moment, I became the luckiest mom in the world.

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We were sitting here tonight watch 101 Dalmatians and suddenly the room lit up, despite the blinds being closed.  Scott and I looked at each other and I said “Who turned on the lights?”  I started toward the kitchen with a plate and glanced out the nearby window.  I plopped my plate down and rand back to get my camera so I could go outside.  The light was amazing.  I felt like it honestly knocked on the window.  These pictures are straight out of the camera.

And within four minutes (seriously), it was gone.  The sun dropped down and the blackness faded.

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I went to the mall to try to induce labor walk.  Nearly every person who came close enough to speak said, “Aww, when are you due?”  “Today!” I answered longingly.

I’m one of those people who enjoyed being pregnant.  Once I got past the morning sickness and started showing, I loved feeling him kicking and moving around inside.  I never once worried about how to take care of a baby.  Somehow, my mind was completely at ease.  I worried more about the delivery than anything.  I look back now, I seemed so young and naive.  Like that was a different person.  And I was really.  Parenthood only leaves a glimpse of your former self.  Sleeping soundly is a thing of the past.  You worry about vaccines and violence in schools instead of clothing and Friday night plans.  You wear a shirt covered in spit up just for the sake of your laundry pile.  You handled tasks you previously thought best left to the Hazmat trained professionals.  But with all these changes in yourself and your life, you find the biggest change of all is the size of your heart.  I never knew how much love a heart could hold until I was a mother.

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…It wasn’t pretty.

There was foul language.  Spelled outloud.  My kid won’t know the words, but he’ll be spelling them.  Or saying one particular word beginning with S and ending with T in German, because somehow that makes it not a bad word.

There were hours of frustration.  Six to be exact. (That’s just the failing icing, not the entire cake.)

In the end, the fondant won.  I threw in the towel.  I was trying to make marshmallow fondant in five colors.  Red, blue, white, gray, and black.  Red and black were the death of me.  I had no gloves to wear, and if you’ve used Wilton Food Coloring Gels before, you can imagine how my hands must look.

I can feel every tendon and muscle connected to my fingers or my right hand.  My fingers and fingernails are rainbow colored.  And when I bent my finger, my knuckle split open (you have to knead it forever).  That was when I gave up on the fondant and decided to stick with buttercream.  I am my own worst critic.  I hate the way the cake looks.  Believe it or not, I feel like I disappointed him.  I know that sounds crazy.  But he had ideas about the cake, and I just knew I could do it.  And then it didn’t work.  So yeah.  That sucked.

Pictures are coming.  I promise.

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Bake your cake (use leftover batter from trial Herbie hiding beside the coffee maker).

Decorate your cake.  Have fun with icing.


The Best step: Eat your cake.

Yummy.  My mess up – turned heart.
Clean up after your cake and fellow “celebrators”

Either that or just eat the remaining icing with a spoon.

Bonus recipe.  Never use store bought icing again.  1/2 stick of butter, 8oz pack of cream cheese (both softened), and powdered sugar to taste, half a bag or so.  Best.  Icing.  Ever.

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Bear-naked

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The bottom left picture is not part of the other two pictures, but something different, and edible.

To the party-goers: Please see that you eat as little sugar as possible this week, as we have your week’s supply covered at the party! haha

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But..wait…I didn’t think you had any siblings?

Well technically, I don’t.  But after knowing a family for the past 24 of my soon to be 27 years…I claim them!  So I headed out today solo (very strange to go somewhere with an empty carseat) to the bridal shower.  I had the pleasure of being event photographer.  Which ultimately means I come home and nitpick all my pictures and why I cropped it this way and why I didn’t shoot that from a different angle.  All I can say is, thank God for the digital darkroom!  I tried to quietly shoot without being noticed, as my preference continues to be the unposed candids.  I believe those capture the true personality and feeling of the moment.

…like your mother reading a verse that was read at her own bridal shower…

…and catching up with old friends…

~~~

Trying a creative angle

The gorgeous bride-to-be

This was a shy one, I had to catch her when she wasn’t looking.  She’s the flower-girl-to-be!

She is actually part of the groom’s family, though it might look like she belongs on the bride’s side!

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Caleb found the pack of face paint crayons that I purchased at Halloween to make one black dot on his nose.  No surprise he wanted to sport the number 53 for our trip across the border for peanut butter (that’s right, we ate all that peanut butter.  Already.  Scary isn’t it?).

My almost four year old.  Sigh.

I love these three.  This one because he is studying Herbie.

This one because his eyes are so crystal clear and he’s looking right into the camera.

And this one because he and Charley have the same expression.

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