Oh man. That whole ringing finality of EVER again. It just kills me.

At least they have begun to talk through their problems. Next stage, being constructive…

We were talking about how I was excited to celebrate his birthday early and get on with the holiday preparation. He’s never asked me to hold off on shopping or baking cookies, or putting up the tree. It’s just me. I want to have his birthday be a separate, special time.

He said he’s never been a big fan of having a December birthday. My response, “OK, well, we can celebrate your next birthday in August, with mine, and we can both turn 40!”

Yeah, as much as he doesn’t care for a December birthday, he doesn’t want to be 40 either. But he was kind enough not to remind me that even with his birthday Sunday, his next birthday won’t be 40.

Redding wants a new baby. He was telling Annabella at lunch. She tried to convince him that a new baby would be less attention for them both and much more work for Mom and Dad. He doesn’t care. He said, “I’ve decided, I’m asking Santa. We’ll just have to wait and see if he brings me one.”

I told him when he grows up and is ready to be a Dad, he can have or adopt as many babies as he wants. “OK, Mom, I think I’ll have around 18.” I wonder if he didn’t get switched with a Duggar baby. Who wants 18 children? Luke and Kerry – I’m looking at you.

Annabella decided to play hostess for our guests for yoga this morning and got down cups and served water for all 5 kids. She vetoes my request that everyone get glass juice cups, giving the three smaller kids acrylic and herself and the next oldest medium sized glasses. Growing by leaps and bounds and using her own judgment. Could I complain about that?

She sang her ‘small group solo’ for her grandparents, Redding and I last night at dinner. She didn’t get all of the reindeer’s names in there, but she does have a lovely singing voice. It brings tears to my eyes.

While cleaning out the freezer, to make room for holiday cookies, I found the last container of stuffed cabbage. I had it for lunch today. I am sitting here trying to recover from too much yummy goodness, so I can go to the grocery store for the week. Man alive, I make some good stuffed cabbage. And Andrew? Guess what? You didn’t have to smell it this time. The house should be aired out by the time you get home.

I spent much of November posting things that I am thankful for on facebook and it is sticking with me. I can not get over how very fortunate I am. There’s still a tiny part of me that doesn’t want to let it be known that I feel so lucky or that I’m so happy. Like it will be taken away, like the only way it happened in the first place is because somebody is not doing their job. I don’t know. I’m goofy that way. I don’t want to jinx it. We don’t have the best of everything, but we certainly do a great job making the best of everything we’ve got.

Last night at bed time Redding was a little amped up. We went upstairs to get everyone kisses and hugs and settled into bed. As I tried to tuck Red in he exclaimed, animatedly, “I have to get a drink of water!” And with that, he was out of bed and off to the bathroom.

I called after him, “Then you need to go potty again, buddy.” So Andrew and I congregated outside the bathroom to wait for him. Red had closed the door most of the way when he went in to get a drink, as he finished his drink and headed to the potty, he closed the door the rest of the way shouting (a quote from Annabella), “I need some privacy!.”

Andrew and I smiled at each other. What a funny guy that Redding is. Andrew chimed in, “Just wanted to tell you again that I love you Redding, do a good job tonight.”

To which Redding replied as straight as can be (quoting me), “Daddy, we’ve already discussed this.”

We exchanged another look in the hallways. Andrew shook his head and went down the stairs, saying a slightly put out, “Good night, Redding.” over his shoulder.

As Andrew disappeared down the stairs, I heard a faint (quoting Andrew), “You need to get over it Daddy.” issue forth from the bathroom.

When he came out, I got down eye-to-eye with him and we talked about being rude, talking nicely to people, etc. Then he went down and hugged his dad and told him he was sorry.

Then he giggled and wiggled his way through tucking in, hugs and kisses from mom, and lights out. The boy was seriously squirrelly last night.

After talking about growing his hair long, “like Rapunzel’s,” he agreed to a dashing new haircut:

He LOVED his new preschool class orientation yesterday. He even mentioned that he’s very excited to meet the other half of the kids from his class, who were in the other orientation.

On the way home from the Y this morning he asked me, “How do you make 35 cents, Mom?” I replied with my standard, “How do you think you make 35 cents?” My little 4 year old replied, “I’d use a dime and a quarter.” Love, love, love my little smarty pants.

Love asking kids to answer their own questions and then discussing the answers.

And then, over lunch today? Redding is eating the soft taco he designed, with meat, beans, cheese, THEN red pepper, THEN green onion. He stops, looks up at me, finishes chewing, swallows, and says, “Mom, you know I’m super proud of you, right?”

Thanks buddy. I’m super proud of you, too.

You remember and share interesting facts. Like chewing gum while chopping onions will stop you from crying and a coconut is actually the largest seed on earth.

Part of me wants to keep you a little girl forever. Because you don’t care what other people think. You are probably the least self-conscious person I know. I hope you stay that way forever. Likewise, your tenacity in tackling challenges is remarkable, even if you complain a bit.

You are strong. Probably even stronger than I’ll ever know.

You are sweet and kind. The depth of your compassion (for cartoon characters and real people) astounds me.

I love reading books with you, especially how much you love the C.S. Lewis books we’ve been reading together. I enjoy talking to you about school, life and friends, I hope we can always share like this.

Watching you grow as a person continues to dazzle me everyday. As much as you grow, you’ll always be my girl. My little, teeny, tiny, amazing punk rock girl. I love you. Happy Birthday.

Meanwhile, earlier today we saw a poster for a Red Cross Blood Drive on July 30th. Annabella asked what that was all about and I told her, “Sometimes when people are sick or injured they need blood. In order for them to receive blood, someone has to donate it. That’s why they have blood drives.”

“How do they donate it?” She inquired with wide eyes.

“It is kind of like when they draw blood for a blood test, only the needle stays in longer, until a pint bag is filled.”

“Whoa! That’s a lot. I don’t want to do that.”

“Well, you don’t have it, it’s not required. First of all, you have to be at least 17, and even then it is voluntary. People do it because it saves lives.”

“Like superheros?”

“Kind of, just less dangerous. One blood donation can save up to three lives.”

“Really? I hope I never need blood.”

“You did when you were a baby. And because someone, like your Poppa or like me, donated blood, it was available for you.”

“Why did I need blood?”

“Because you were very early, and preemies aren’t able to make their own red blood cells yet.”

“Why? Is being a preemie rare?”

“Because ordinarily, they wouldn’t have to. They’d get them from their mom. And no, being a preemie isn’t rare, there are about 500,000 preemies born every year.”

“HOW do they get blood from their moms?”

“Through the umbilical cord.”

“How do they cut the umbilical cord?”

“With sharp surgical scissors.”

So yeah, we had that whole big conversation. Then when Bel’s friend came over, she recounted it, almost word for word. She got all her numbers right, too. It was wild.

Her friend has two little brothers and one on the way. She was a riot, telling Annabella all about things. Then, next thing I know, the two of them are carrying around baby dolls and telling each other, “I think I’m going to have a baby!”

So much pretending! So much talking over what is going on in their lives, recounting their recent conversations with adults.

Another great reminder, that when we talk, they listen. We help shape their experience of the world and what they share with others.

Next week they’ll be modeling for JC Penney apparently.

Annabella was totally excited, she knows the routine, she can manage her own stuff. She was talking about how she’s planning on making it to the top of the climbing wall this year. She is such a dynamo!

From the first time Annabella took a bus to kindergarten, Redding has been asking when he can ride a school bus. This morning as I watched Redding struggle up the steps onto the bus, taking one at a time, pulling his backpack up behind him, I teared up a little. Then when he got to the top of the steps, oblivious to other bigger kids waiting to get on behind him, he stopped and asked the driver, “Does this bus cost money?” The driver told him no, and he moved on to his seat. He never once looked back at me.

I teared up more than a little the first time I sent Annabella off to camp, but there was less than a moment to think about it because I immediately needed to get on with taking care of Redding. Today, it is just me. I’ve got some things that I’d like to do. I’m half expecting a call to hear that Redding has lost his little mind, half expecting that he’ll do so great that he’ll be king of the camp in no time.

Three years ago, when we dropped off Annabella, Redding was just out of the infant carrier car seat. Today he’s a feisty 4 year old wrestling with a backpack that weighs almost as much as he does. But lucky me, even though he’s getting to be a big boy, he still wanted me to pick him up so he could give me a great big monkey hug before the bus got there. He grabbed both sides of my head and put his forehead to mine and said, “I just love you so much.”

Keep your fingers crossed, I know mine are.

I keep waiting for them to look exhausted and bedraggled after camp. No chance. They come off the bus and want to know where else we can go before we go home. It’s crazy.

I would run and roll down hills, spin in circles until I fell down, and laugh so hard with my brother and sisters that I nearly peed myself.

I used to turn my tricycle over and and pull up handfuls of grass and run them through between the front wheel and the fender (it must have been a fancy trike!) to turn it into straw, or gold, or wool or anything else I wanted.

When I would get anti-social, I would grab a book and a flashlight, I would go into the bedroom I shared with one of my sisters and hang the hood of my robe over the tall post on the headboard, sit down under it and read. Alone, alone at last, for 5 stinking minutes! They never found me.

I remember thinking it was the coolest thing that my mom was a good bowler, but I really loved that she was a great baker.

And I used to carry things from one place to another by pulling up the front of my shirt and making a little pouch. Thanks for making me laugh and reminding me of fun childhood memories, Andrew.

Annabella is taking the path of ‘difficult thinking child’ by ignoring when her brother talks to her, only replying to me with the vaguest of answers, and constantly lamenting things like “who wrote in the library book with a crayon?”

Redding is taking on the role of slightly off-kilter boy with vague illnesses and injuries. He’s had hives a couple times, a stuffy nose, and now? Now he has a limp. Same foot, from about noon today until bed time. He consistently limped. Told me nothing was wrong, nothing was hurting…

I think they know that as a solo parent I am at my most vulnerable. They’ve spotted my weaknesses, have begun to exploit them, and will soon take me down like a sick wildebeest.

If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, beware my children. They may be little, but they’re wiry.

Impossible! Becuase wouldn’t my ass be smaller then?

She loves to read, I used to actually hide from my siblings so I could read in peace. She falls down a lot. She can look you straight in the face and tell you a lie, if she has to. It’s true. I’ve told a lie or two in my day. Quite well, actually.

Besides being tall and slim, there are other things that make me wonder sometimes if she did get 50% of my DNA. First, she loves art. She loves to create it, she loves to talk about it, she loves to draw, to paint, to craft, to make things all the time. Second, she doesn’t really have any interest in cooking or baking. Third, she loves music class, she has rhythm, she is not tone deaf, and she can sing on pitch. I don’t even know what singing on pitch is. Truly.

Last night after dinner, Annabella asked if she could have some toast. She’s having a growth spurt for sure. “I’ve got a whale of an appetite today.” Which is good. When the toast popped up she exclaimed, gleefully, “Burnt to a crisp!”

Andrew looked right at me and smiled. She really almost couldn’t be more like me. That would be frightening.

(To be clear, the toast wasn’t exactly burnt, but very dark, just the way I like it. And to be honest, I do have a taste for slightly burnt toast, cookies, and marshmallows. We don’t know yet if she likes these things, but if I had to guess I’d say she probably will.)