Happy 3rd Birthday Charlie Boo

My darling Charlie,

When you wake up (assuming you don't get out of bed in the middle of the night, complaining that it's still dark out - which is actually pretty likely, but I digress) it will be your third birthday.

What a spectacular little boy you are. The year between two and three has allowed us to see more nuanced aspects of your personality. I always knew you were sweet, but now I know how very tender and thoughtful you are. I always knew you were fun, but now I've seen you in a fit of giggles that strikes you so hard it makes you fall over and clutch your tummy. I always knew you were friendly, but now I know how you'll strike up a conversation with any old stranger in any old place, never failing to elicit a great big smile from all around you.

Here are some things about you at age three that I think you should know:

1) You love to sing. You sing everywhere you go, and I am not exaggerating. People frequently come up to me in public places and say things like "my, my, he's quite the singer!" and it takes me a minute to realize what they mean. I have gotten so used to hearing your EXTREMELY loud voice belting out classics like "La la la La la la Rocket Needs a Home" and "Goin' on a trip in our favorite rocket ship..." and "ABC"s and "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" that I no longer hear you at all. It's sort of like when I lived next to the airport and when other people would cringe and plug their ears as a huge 747 would come in for a landing right over our heads, I'd be all "is there a fly in here? I think I heard a buzzing."

2) In stereotypical boy fashion, you absolutely adore anything with wheels. You like trikes and bikes, motorcycles, cars, buses, trucks, diggers, airplanes, rockets and trains. The great thing about this passion of yours is that it's easy to find things that interest you and, unlike your big sister, you will actually take these things and play with them. By yourself. In your room. In other words, you, my dear son, have the valuable ability to keep yourself busy. I love that about you.

3) You are the ultimate snuggler. I was so afraid that this aspect of your personality was going to decline as you grew out of babyhood, but thankfully it is still going strong. Not only to you like to cuddle, but something about that skin-to-skin contact is essential to you. You need it like water, especially when you're feeling tired, sad, or shy. Not long ago, in order to keep you from sticking your hand down my shirt (a remnant of comfort from nursing?) I began telling you to touch my neck instead. The base of the neck is now your favorite spot to hold. I am frequently choked by what you imagine to be a gentle neck caress. You evidently think that stroking necks is as cathartic for the person you're choking as it is for you - the other day when we were out with Grandma, you wanted her to pick you up but I told you she couldn't because it hurt her hand too much. "But...but I'll touch her neck," you said with such sincere conviction that it would help, "that will make her feel better."

4) You love your sister. She is the coolest thing in the world, and you want to do everything she does and you want to do it just like her. You frequently copy everything she says, word for word; her own personal echo. One of the most amazing things to me about the two of you is how often you think of each others happiness. I am blown away by your generosity of spirit toward her. Yesterday, I was at Target with you while Lua was at preschool, and I got you some fruit snacks as a treat for sitting patiently in the store. "What about Lua?," you said, "Lua needs a treat too." You thought about it for a moment and then decided with a smile, "I'll share my treats with her." And you did. Another example happened today when we were at the zoo. Lua tripped and fell on her hands, which made her cry. Later, on the way home, you leaned over to her seat and asked quietly if her hands felt better. Maybe this doesn't seem like much to you now, as you read this, but it seems to me that a compassionate and thoughtful 3-year-old is a very rare and precious being.

Charlie, there is so much to say about you that I feel like I can only touch on the tips of the tiniest aspects of your beautiful three-year-old self here. I could write a book on how cute you are, from your adorable husky little voice that NEVER STOPS TALKING, to your round little belly that leads you wherever you walk, to the diverse facial expressions you make when you're saying your bedtime prayers. What a gift you are to me.

Love you forever,
Mommy

Marketing

Yesterday Charlie watched a Thomas the Train movie. Today I asked Charlie what he wanted for his birthday.

"Thomas and Friends!" he replied.
"What does that mean?," I asked. "Thomas and Friends what?"
"Thomas and Friends!"
"Do you mean you want more engines for your train set?"
"NO! Thomas and Friends!"
"You want a Thomas movie?"
"No no no. I want a Thomas and Friends DVD Experience, Mom!"

Twilight: the Toddler Years

I have written a little bit about the many challenges that Charlie presents us with at bed time. However, I don't think I've ever fully described the level of stress his refusal to sleep produces. Just thinking about describing it actually gives me a headache.

Since birth, Charlie has been so different to Lua in this area. He just doesn't seem to need sleep. We have always been able to put Lua down in her bed without any fuss for naps and bedtimes, at whatever time we wanted, and she will just fall asleep. Charlie seems to want to bleed the life out of each day. He is like a Vampire of Time, just sucking out each and every minute, even if it is downright unpleasant for him and everyone around him.

We have tried EVERYTHING. I am not even kidding you. I will not go into an exhausted list of the many, many techniques we have attempted to get this kid to sleep, because you would still be sitting here reading this tomorrow. And, you would probably be tempted to drown yourself in the toilet just to end the aggravation, as I have been tempted many times before.

I was discussing this problem with some friends today, and they suggested I get a gate for Charlie's room. That way, I am not technically locking his door, and he can still see out, but he can't leave his room. So, the idea is that we go through the routine and put him to bed, tell him that this is the last time we'll be answering him tonight, and shut the gate. If he needs to stay up and play in his room it's okay. If he needs to scream and holler and bang his little fists against the wall, that's okay. He just can't get out, and we will not respond to his never-ending list of demands. (I need my flashlight! My flashlight needs batteries! Where is my soft rocket? I want milk! I want water! I'm hungry! I'm not sleepy! Can I sleep in your bed! Where is Lua? Can I sleep in Lua's bed? I want to sleep on Lua's floor. I need to sleep on Lua's floor! Can I drive you crazy enough that you'll let me come out of here and watch that movie with you?????)

So on the way home from the chat with these friends today, I bought a gate. I installed it as soon as we got home (Me woman. Me like power screw driver.) Charlie was really excited about it, which I realized later was because he thought we were buying a baby. (When I got the gate up, he said "Where's the baby? Where's that little purple baby?" And pointed to the kid on the box wearing a purple tee shirt). Anyway, now Charlie is corralled in his bedroom playing trains. He's singing and shouting, but still he is unable to get out of said room until quiet time is over. Because, did I mention? THE CHILD HAS STOPPED NAPPING. Which has piled stress on top of stress, because i have to chase him back inside his room twenty times during the one hour of quiet time we have every day, as well as fifty times a night after we put him to bed.

So far he's tried convincing Lua to let him out. (Woo-ah, come open the gate! Open the gate, Woo-ah!) but she's too smart to fall for that beginner's manipulation. The girl has definitely skipped some grades to Advanced Manipulation Techniques. So, ya'll, if Lua will just stay in her room for the full sixty minutes, I might just get ONE HOUR of free time here. BLISS.

Oh, and keep your fingers crossed for a less stressful bedtime tonight!

I Dream In Color

This morning I was telling Lua about a dream I had last night that involved her. In the dream, Lua found a box of stamps, and she'd somehow managed to stamp her entire back with green Olympic circles. Personally, I was interested in the Olympic aspect of the dream. Lua was not.

Lua: Why weren't the stamps pink and purple?
Me: I don't know.
Lua: Hm. But I don't even like green very much. Well, I do like chartreuse. Maybe they were chartreuse?
Me: Maybe.

The Uterus as an Electronic Storage Device

The Talk, Version 1

So, my good friends had a baby a couple of weeks ago. I was driving to the hospital to meet them when Lua asks me a very important question from the backseat. "Mommy," she wondered, "how do babies get into their mommy's tummy, and how do they get out?"

For a moment I was silent. What to tell her? How much to tell her? I desperately wanted to make something up about a stork or a baby store at the hospital, but my own pledge to tell my kids only truthful, straightforward things about their bodies held me back. I hedged.

"What do you think happens?," I threw the question back at Lua with genuine curiosity.

"Well", she said slowly, "I think that God has a special seed that he puts in the mommy's tummy. It grows and grows until it becomes a baby. I don't know how the baby gets out though, because there is no hole in the tummy."

Okay, that's a good start, right? Special seed. I can run with that.

"That's really close", I told Lua. And folks, this is the part that, when I told my twenty nine year old friend, it made her blush. But I swallowed hard and went on, "Actually the daddy has a special seed, and when it mixes with the Mommy's egg it makes a baby. The baby grows and grows just like you said, until it's ready to come out."

"But how does the baby come out?" Lua asked again.

So I told her. I tried to be technical yet vague, if that is possible. Instead of getting freaked out, Lua looked relieved, as if I'd solved a puzzle that was confounding her.

A couple of days later we were driving in the car again when Lua told me she had a wish.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I wish that I had a DVD player with a TV that was inside of me, and it would just pop out of my vagina! That way I could watch cartoons whenever I wanted."

Lua goes to Camp

Lua started camp this week. Camp. I can hardly believe she is old enough to put on her own clothes in the morning, let alone go to camp. But there it is.

This is just a day camp, put on by the YMCA, Monday through Friday for one week from 9:00-4:00. Still, it's camp just like the movies. In the morning they all get together in a big circle and sing silly camp songs that are lead by college age counselors. They swim, canoe, make lanyards, and they even had Lua doing archery yesterday. At the end of the day, I pick her up covered in sunscreen and dirt from head to toe. Oh, and with a huge smile on her face.

When I dropped Lua off the first day, we were both nervous. She didn't know anyone, and she'd never been to camp before, whereas most of the older kids there had been going for years. I stayed with her, the lone parent in a sea of tie-dyed tee shirts, jean shorts and pony tails, until the big circle was formed and one of the counselors started singing a song I vaguely remembered from Camp Kitchi Yappi as a kid. Charlie and I crept away incrementally. This whole camp thing was a little scary for Lua and a lot scary for me. Lua looked so small and vulnerable standing there.

All day long I waited for the phone call that would say "come pick your daughter up, she's been crying since you left her - you awful mother!" But this call never came. I should have known better. Lua is incredibly resillient. She makes friends easily, tries new things without much fuss, and she's generally great at following the directions of any adult besides her parents. That is why I decided to put her in camp in the first place.

This whole experience has been positive for Charlie and I too. He is a totally different child when Lua is not around. He doesn't laugh as much, but he doesn't cry as much either. He's back to the even tempered child I remember from before the terrible twos struck. He's attentive and sweet, patient and fun. We've had some great one-on-one time, which is something we've rarely ever had before. And THE YELLING, it has stopped! THE YELLING has been a constant around here for the past few months. The kids yell at eachother over the stupidest things. They bite, kick, poke, and scream. This makes me want to yell back at them, which is never a good thing. So a little time apart is doing them well.

Still, every time I say something about Lua being at camp, Charlie has a melt down. He misses her. A lot. So do I. But camp is preparing me for what school will be like next year, and suddenly I am not so worried.

Is she 4 or 14?

ME: I want to talk to you about the way you've been treating Charlie when your friends are around. Now, I know it can be frustrating to have your little brother with you all the time, but I think you're really hurting his feelings.
LUA: No I'm not.
ME: Well, let's put it this way. How would you feel if Charlie and Emily ran downstairs, shut the door in your face, and told you that you couldn't be part of their band?
LUA: I would feel fine.
ME: Lua. Come on.
LUA: What? It would be fine! I would be happy.
ME: I don't think you would be happy.
LUA: Mom, okay. I'll try. Now let's not have this conversation any more.