Happy Birthday, Tula!

Call me Mother of the Year.

My Darling Tula,

At this time last year, Daddy and I were waiting for Grammy to come and hang out with Peanut while we were at the hospital. Daddy had just taken Peanut out for pancakes, so he thought this was quite a good day already. Plus, there was the addition of cookies at preschool snack time. Best day ever.

We got to the hospital and, after a long wait, you came screaming into the world at 1:11 in the afternoon. Daddy held you first, and had to cradle you in one arm while he wiped away tears of joy. Then he handed you to me. I already loved you, and then I got to see the most beautiful little baby girl ever.

Peanut came to visit you after preschool and immediately wanted to hold his Tula. He's been the best big brother, and I know how much you love him and he loves you.

You've grown so much this year. You've gone from a tiny baby to nearly walking. Yesterday you stood up all by yourself! You're feeding yourself, trying to talk, and doing everything you can to explore this big world.

Tula, my wish for you this year is that your sense of amazement only grows with every new thing you do and discover. May you and Peanut still be the best of friends, and may you always know how much Daddy and I love you.

Happy First Birthday, beloved Tula.

Love,
Mommy

Call me Mother of the Year.

He's Not in Preschool Anymore

Call me Mother of the Year.

I let him go today.

Peanut's Adventures in Kindergarten actually began on Thursday. As he came pounding into my room for his thief-Daddy's-side-of-the-bed experience, I told him that the next day would be Kindergarten Day. Peanut's response: "Oh, Mommy. I don't want to go to Kindergarten." After listening to my son's fears, I realized that he's afraid of the unknown. I'm in the middle of reassuring him when Kindergarten Teacher called. As I was explaining Peanut's worries, she invited him (and me) to her classroom. It was a wonderful idea and a great time was had.

Friday morning was the First Day (or in our case, first hour) of School. The classroom was investigated and a story was read. Peanut showed off his brilliance by correctly defining "nocturnal" and I successfully (mentally) slapped my own hand for nearly telling him to be quiet. It's his show now, Mom. Let him go.

I let him go today.

Today was the first full day of Kindergarten. His lunch was packed, breakfast eaten, and we were out the door in plenty of time. Boomer took today off and had Tula while I held my son's small hand and walked toward the playground. Peanut promptly shook off my hand and ran in search of really cool climbing equipment and friends yet to be made. Boomer suggested we leave before we turned into "creepy clingy parents". I turned to go with him and Tula, and then it hit me: he never said goodbye.

I let him go today. And that hurt.

Of course, I was there as soon as school let out today. And of course, I was greeted with a shriek of "MOMMY!!! I'm so glad to see you!" He had a good day, and I've been regaled with stories of tag, lunch bells, and P.E.

I let him go today. We both survived.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Mommies Say The Weirdest Things

Call me Mother of the Year.

I've realized the most bizarre things have left my mouth over the last five years of motherhood. These are, in no particular order, some of the things I've said to my kids over the last month. Yes, there are stories attached to all, and I may even relate those later. Special bonus to those who guess which kid got which saying!

"We do not fling the cat!"

"I don't care how cute you are, the dog is not to be used as target practice."

"Sure, bacon's a good secret ingredient to trail mix." (Don't ask. Seriously.)

"Fingers are not food. Neither are feet."

"We do not take toys that aren't ours."

"Get the shoelace out of your mouth. Get the dog's tail out of your mouth."

"When taking a shower, it helps to get under the water."

"Dog food is not your food."

"I'll tell you when it's Kindergarten Day!"

"The changing table is not a jungle gym."

Call me Mother of the Year.

The Countdown Is On

Call me Mother of the Year.

So the doctor's appointments have been completed, the school supplies procured and hidden from certain eyes and hands, and the calendar with days to be marked off is at the ready. Bring it on, Kindergarten.

Peanut is deeply impressed with himself. It's not every Kindergartner, after all, who gets to choose his own backpack AND lunchbox (I'll let you guess which he's more interested in). The questions are coming fast and furious. I'm finding myself repeating the answers several times a day. Thus the calendar (thanks, Beloved Teacher!).

"Will I ride the bus again?" No. Last year Peanut was quite happy hanging out on the bus full of his classmates. This year I'm breathing a sigh of relief that Peanut vs. Third Graders isn't happening.

"Will I have to get a vaccination?" Yes, Peanut used that word correctly. My kid is brilliant. And PBS Kids did a wonderful job of trying not to freak Peanut out. It almost worked, but the game winner was that his shots are up to date and therefore more shots were unnecessary. Much rejoicing.

"Why isn't today Kindergarten day?" Because it isn't. Thus the calendar. And the marker. And the Kleenex for me as I realize I'm totally gonna lose it his first full day. And the jab in Boomer's ribs for laughing at me.

And now, not-so-small-one, it's time to cross off another day. Eighteen days to go. Bring it on.

Call me Mother of the Year.

There's An App For That

Call me Mother of the Year.

My beloved BFF and I were discussing Papa's recent iPhone and our mutual desire (and mutual inability to afford) for one. I then commented that Opa's iPhone has the ability to keep Peanut entertained for hours courtesy of one of the apps. BFF chuckled and made mention that there needs to Apps for moms. Thus the brainstorming began.

iTeething Ring: The iPhone is slobberproof and perfect for the teething child!

iPunt: Want to keep your toddler busy? Instead of Kick the Can, Kick the Phone!

iAnswer: Program your iPhone to automatically answer every "Why" marathon!

iLullaby: You've heard of iTunes? Our soothing songs will get the kids to nap quickly!

iFeed: Too many kids? Not enough time? It'll put dinner on the table!

iNap: What busy moms do when their wee ones are occupied by the iPhone!

I've got to figure out how to market this. And if you've any ideas, I'm open to them.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Adventures With Baby

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm now on the third outfit, second bath, and innumerable diaper with Tula. Whoever said it would be best to go with "baby's natural rhythms" was either not a parent or full of what goes in the diapers. Tula, naturally, thinks this is delightful. She's been busy offering not-so-gummy grins and splashing me in her bath. It's a great look for her, but really pathetic for me. Plus, she's figured out how to roll over in her towel and investigate the toilet. Not good.

She's also furious with me because I've done away with her escape plan. Like many babies, Tula has a Bumbo chair. I love this thing. I can put her in it on the kitchen table and feed her. Way easier than the high chair. Or it was until Tula discovered she could escape it. Boomer and I found her crawling on the kitchen table in a quest for the salt shaker as we were fetching sweet potatoes from the pantry. Exit Bumbo, enter high chair. Her Highness is displeased.

Now we're on to crawling. This is quite acceptable as we're independent and grooving. We're also grooving toward the television and the end tables in an effort to eat Peanut's art projects. I want to know where the Potted Plant stage went and if I can get it back. The laughter you hear is Peanut's.

But then Tula cries. And as I pick her up in an attempt to actually get the clean diaper on her, she wraps her little arms around me and does not let go. And the little frustrations of my day melt away. Peanut is ready and willing to play with his little sister. All is right with my world again.

Call me Mother of the year.

The Ending of an Era, The Turning of a Page

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm choosing the line of a Tim McGraw song because it is exactly what I did last night. I was looking through Peanut's notebook from Beloved Teacher. It's a log between her and I, giving updates on our boy's behavior and thoughts on where he's going and needs to be.

There's a lot in there.

There's the high points of his good behavior, his gentleness toward the kids who are smaller than him. There's the day he learned how to hold his crayon properly and write his name. There's a note of congratulations from the day he became a big brother. I'm reading also his lower points: the tantrums, the hitting, the day we realized that he needed more testing and the new diagnosis.

I realize as I hold this notebook that I have the history of this year. I hold all the joys and the frustrations of parenting and teaching Peanut. And I realize as I hold this that this notebook is full. There are no more pages to be written for preschool.

You see, yesterday was Peanut's last day of preschool. Today will be the end of the year picnic. I'll attend his Annual Review meeting and meet with his Kindergarten teacher on Tuesday. And that will be that, until August.

Make no mistake, he's ready for Kindergarten. Thanks to Beloved Teacher, I'm (mostly) ready to let him go. We'll have a fun summer, and I'm looking forward to that. For today, though, I'll eat a hot dog in my son's classroom and realize that I could not have given him the growth he's achieved.

Thanks, Beloved Teacher. For everything.

Call me Mother of the Year.