Fly, Baby Bird

I googled “tips on preparing your anxious child for preschool.” I had conversations with Aaron, with my work friends, with my best friends, with my daycare provider, with my boss, with my family.  I read articles.

I know how nervous Adam can get before any new experience, even when I’m right there with him (case in point: t-ball, or seeing his first play)—and I knew starting preschool would be a billion times worse, at least in his head, because he would be on his own. Unfamiliar faces in an unfamiliar building doing unfamiliar activities. I wouldn’t be there to squeeze his hand, I wouldn’t be there to let him bury his tear-stained face in my shirt, I wouldn’t be there to hug him and reassure him that everything would be fine, he would be alright, he could do this.

I wouldn’t be there.

And so I talked to others and asked questions and read things online. There just had to be some magic formula that would help him during this transition; something that would make him feel better about the unknown. Every time I thought about how scared or sad he would feel—or how there was nothing I could do to fix it—my heart ached.

We visited the preschool not once but twice this summer in order to ease him into it. We talked a lot (too much?) about what to expect. We told him we’d celebrate his first day of school with a trip to Chipotle (Poach-lay)! He talked about it at daycare with Mary, how the three “big boys” were going to school this year and the fun they would have learning new things (the big boys are all 5, and they’ve pretty much been inseparable since they were babies). Adam sounded excited about his new school. He sounded ready. He was FIVE now. He could totally handle this change in his day-to-day routine. Bring it on.

I wasn’t so sure.

I mean, I wanted him to be ready, but didn’t he act this exact same way before t-ball? He was ready and rarin’ to get to the softball field and couldn’t wait to play ball, and once we pulled into that parking lot before the first game, he announced, “Never mind. I don’t want to play.” He refused to wear his uniform, he refused to sit on the bench with the other kids, and he refused to run the bases when the other kids were practicing (and only participated when I went out on the field with him). All of that apprehension and anxiety and his dad was the coach. I thought that fact would've given him some solace.
He tried hard not to cry, but eventually gave in to the tears and started crying before the game started. He buried his face in my shirt—he was embarrassed, and knowing that he was embarrassed was even more agonizing than knowing he was scared. I just wanted him to feel as comfortable as the other kids. I have never been shy, so it was hard to understand where he was coming from. I’ve since come to accept that he doesn’t easily adapt to change. He worries. (And worries. And worries some more.) I thought about my friend Amanda and how she had told me that she had been the same way when she was younger—new experiences were terrifying. I had to remind myself that different kids have different personalities. Today Amanda is a smart, productive member of society with a close-knit group of friends who think the world of her, so I knew there was hope. I had to be patient and most of all, I had to be supportive. He wasn't acting that way by choice. It was his personality. I'd be lying, though, if I said I wasn't a little bit frustrated. The other kids were wearing their jerseys, the other kids were on the bench, not sitting on their mom’s lap, the other kids were acting goofy and laughing. 

Aaron put Adam last in the lineup. When it was his turn to bat, he hesitated before going up to the tee. He looked nervous, then said in a quiet voice, “Mom, come with me.”

My mother-in-law had surprised us by showing up at the field, and I was deeply appreciative of her presence. She was a God-send. She distracted Ben (who thought he was also on the team and kept trying to join the kids out on the field) so that I could put all of my focus on Adam. I honestly don't know what I would have done if I had been alone.

I held Adam's hand and walked with him to home plate, where Aaron was waiting. I handed him off to his dad and hoped he wouldn’t notice as I snuck back to the sidelines. He didn’t. He carefully picked up the bat, stood where he was supposed to stand, and hesitated again. It was the moment of truth—would the coach’s son have enough courage to hit the ball? And if he did go for it, would he hit the ball, hit the tee, or hit nothing?

He took one hard swing and the ball went sailing. A smile broke out on his face as he ran to first, and it was like heaven’s light was shining down on him. A weight had clearly been lifted off his shoulders. And because he was the last at-bat in the lineup, he got to run all the bases. He looked like he was having the time of his life, his little arms pumping hard as he rounded first, then second, then third. (The last batter in the lineup got to run all the bases. It was a much faster-moving system than waiting for three outs.)

Getting a hit didn’t give Adam enough confidence to put on his jersey, or sit on the bench, or play outfield without me “coaching” (standing) out there next to him, but it was a start. It was a good sign.

By the second game, he didn’t need me to walk him to the tee or stand by him on the field, but he still didn't want to wear his jersey. 
And by the third game, he wore his jersey, sat on the bench, and hardly noticed I was even there. (Which was probably a good thing, because I was so busy chasing Ben that I barely had a chance to watch Adam's game.)

It was a very similar experience when we went to see Adam’s first musical play (Seussical: The Musical). For at least a week before the show, he talked about how excited he was to have a date with Mom (no Dad, no Ben, just Mom and her work friends). But when we walked into the building, his demeanor changed. He was too nervous to eat the Seussical-themed kid-friendly dinner, too nervous to answer simple questions, too nervous to talk to Alex, Kelly, or even Uncle Jeremy—all of them friends he had met numerous times. (I mean, come on. It's Uncle Jeremy!) When we took our seats in the theater, he obsessively worried about where we were sitting “Do you know how to get out? Will the doors lock? I don’t want to sit here anymore.” (I finally told him to put his face into the crook of his elbow if he felt overwhelmed or scared, and he took my advice.) 

Once the lights went down he just about jumped out of his skin “What’s going on? Why are they turning out the lights?!?!” It only took about 10 minutes for him to realize that the play wasn’t at all what he thought it would be (still not sure what that is, exactly, other than “creepy.”) He started asking a lot of really loud questions “Where did that come from!? Where did Dr. Seuss go? Is that Horton? Woah! Is that a JELLYFISH?! Is there water in the bathtub?!”—apparently we still have to work on the whole theater etiquette thing—laughed at all the right parts, and enjoyed the rest of the show. I could almost see the tension leave his muscles as he settled into his chair. He even snuck a few glances over at my boss’s adorable daughter Elly, and tried to engage her in manly conversation. “I scraped my knee at daycare. I have a HUGE Band-Aid on my leg. Wanna see it?”

So … after enduring those “first-time” experiences, I knew Adam’s first day would have to be handled on his terms, in his time.

The day before school started we had a really lovely Labor Day in Forest Lake with my parents—went boating and swimming and out to eat for lunch and grilled out for dinner (my mom even got a little tipsy on wine, that never happens!) and just enjoyed being together. We made sure to leave at a reasonable time in order for Adam to be well-rested on his first day of school. He was worn out from playing hard all day, and was (amazingly) fast asleep by 8:30 p.m.

So far, so good.

A few friends posted supportive messages on Facebook, which I really appreciated (thank you, friends). Knowing how Adam has a tendency to fret, his daycare friend Zander's mom even posted an encouraging video of Zander wishing Adam a good first day of school. So sweet.
Reality hit me as I read those messages. Adam was going to be separated from his three best friends and his daycare mom—away from daycare, his second home for the past FIVE years—of course he was scared. I felt a little like how I imagine I will feel when he starts kindergarten. I know it’s time to push the baby bird out of the nest, I know he’ll be better for it, and yet it’s bittersweet, this rite-of-passage. I think it was the realization that I simply can’t protect him all the time. 

The next morning, we were all up early. Our goal was to be out the door by 6:45 a.m. When Aaron nudged Adam awake, there was no way Adam had forgotten overnight what day this was. His lower lip trembled as he fought back tears. “I don’t want to go to preschool.”

And then it was like a dam burst, the tears came fast and furious and he couldn’t stop. He didn't want to go, he wanted to stay at daycare forever. “I don’t want to go to preschool, all of my friends are at daycare! I don't even care about preschool. I don't!”

It was a very emotionally-charged morning. We tried to reassure him that he was going to be just fine and he was going to have fun and he was going to make new friends and he was going to learn all kinds of interesting new things. 

He was unusually silent on the drive to preschool. When I checked the rearview mirror, his face was as white as snow. 

I tried to empathize. “See those buses? All those kids are going to school, and a whole bunch of them are as nervous as you are. A whole bunch of kids are starting a new school today.” 
No reaction.
I tried distraction, with some success. We made a game of counting the school buses. I played his Barenaked Ladies kids' CD, turning up the volume when his favorite songs came on. 
Still no smile.

When we pulled into the parking lot of his preschool, Aaron’s dad called to wish Adam good luck during his first day of school. His timing could not have been more perfect ... that is, if the grandchild he was calling had been truly excited for school. Adam was too nervous to talk and just said “thank you” in a quiet, scared voice before handing the phone back to Aaron. When we got out of the car, Adam wanted me to hold him, so I did. (Aaron was there, too, waiting with Ben. He waited out in the parking lot so as not to make drop-off a bigger deal than it needed to be.)

When we got into the school, there were about 10 kids there, eating breakfast or playing. No one seemed nervous. No one seemed new.

“Hi,” I said to the director. “Here’s the check. Was I supposed to bring anything else?”

“Did you bring his pillow and blanket?” she asked.

His what? Oh God, I had failed him already.

“The kids each have a pillow and blanket for rest time,” she explained.

I’m sure there was a note about this in some packet of information, but shit. It would’ve been nice to have a reminder.

“We have a few community pillows and blankets here, but if you could bring his tomorrow, that would be great.”

I was busy at work and it would take me at least another 40 minutes to drive home and back to the center, but dammit, my nervous kid was going to have his own pillow and blanket! It was the least I could do.

“I’ll go home and get them.”

“Did you bring an extra change of clothes?” she asked, noticing that the only thing I was holding was a terrified 5-year-old.

Crap. Make that two-for-two. I was on a roll!

“No. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he needed a change of clothes.”

“Please bring those too. It's good to have a spare set in case, ya know ...” 
Say no more. I know. 

“Ok.”
“Did he eat breakfast yet today?”

Was this a trick question? “No?”

“We’ll start with breakfast then,” she said, waving to the three kids who were busy shoveling cereal into their mouths. We walked toward the kitchen area.

“Mom, don’t go!” Adam announced, a look of terror on his face as it sunk in that this was it—the Dreaded Goodbye. “Don’t go!”

“You can stand on this chair and wave goodbye to her,” the teacher suggested.

I walked him over to the window, stood him on the chair, and before I could go, he locked his fingers tightly around my neck. I honestly didn’t think I’d be able to free myself from his grip. It was like he had super-human strength.

“NO! DON’T GO, MOM! DON’T GO!” he screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks. The teacher held him as I backed away.
I remembered what my dear friend Karla had told me the night before. Go into the school with confidence, and leave with confidence. Do not stall.
“I love you! You’ll be ok!” I yelled as I hurried toward the door, giving him an encouraging smile and a wave goodbye.

Get me out of here before I change my mind about all of this.

When I got to the parking lot, Aaron was waiting with Ben. We could all see Adam crying from his spot at the window.

“Well that sucked.”
Aaron gave me a comforting hug. 

“Where’s Adam?!” Ben asked, sounding borderline hysterical. “WHERE IS HE?!?”

Oh no, not him too.

“He’s at preschool.”

“I wanna go to school, too!” he cried. “I wanna go with Adam!”

I felt heart-sick. I’m sorry, Adam. And I'm sorry Ben for taking away your constant playmate and companion.

Aaron drove off to work and I drove to daycare, where Ben once again asked about his brother. It was weird not having Adam with me as Ben and I walked up to the door. This whole morning had been weird.
After I told the drop-off story to Mary and her daughter Katie (they were sympathetic) I said goodbye to Ben, hugged him, and turned to go. Ben cried “NO!” and ran for the door, blocking my exit. More tears.

“We’ll go stand on the chair in the toy room and wave goodbye to Mom,” Mary said, grabbing his hand and leading him away from me. “She has to go now. She has to get to work.”

I hurried up the stairs and out to my car, where—for the second time in less than an hour—I had to wave goodbye to one of my sons as he stood bawling at the window.

I turned on the radio extra loud and drove home where I retrieved Adam’s blanket, pillow, and a change of clothes, then got back in the car and headed toward his school. I didn’t want him to see me, so I decided I’d call the school and figure out a good drop-off spot where I could be incognito. When I got close to the parking lot, I noticed the director outside waiting with the school-age kids for the bus to come. Perfect. No Adam in sight.

I waited in my car until all the kids were safely on the bus, then approached the teacher with Adam’s blanket and clothes.
“How is he doing?” I asked. (Did I really want to know?)

“He won’t leave my side. He’s been my shadow all morning,” she smiled. “I have Adam on one leg and my son on the other.”

I could tell she was choosing her words carefully. There was no mention of him crying or asking for me or acting depressed and despondent.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, even though it was out of my control now. (Apologizing for things out of your control is very Midwestern.) “It must be hard to get anything done.”

“He’ll be fine,” she said. “He’ll warm up.”

Earlier that morning, I had pulled a magnet off the fridge of a little boy and girl together—a souvenir I had received from my friend Kirsten, all the way from Denmark—and tried to give it to Adam, but he had been crying too hard and we forgot about it. I read somewhere that if you give anxious children something to keep in their pockets as a reminder that Mom and Dad are thinking of them and are always with them, it will provide valuable peace of mind. I thought about giving Adam a special rock, but then figured his new teachers might not appreciate that and consider it a weapon. I briefly considered a button or a quarter too (don't laugh, I was trying to think of things that would fit in his pocket) and then noticed this adorable magnet on my way out of the house. It's a little bigger than a postage stamp. It could be a symbol of Adam and Mommy. Perfect.

“Would you mind giving this to him? So he knows I’m thinking of him,” I handed it over.

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll try to come early today,” I told her. “I know this is all overwhelming to him.”

Another encouraging smile.  
“You come when it's most convenient,” she said.
Once I was at work I couldn't shake the feelings of guilt and sadness. Adam was miserable. It was hard to concentrate ... and to be perfectly honest, I was a little annoyed with all the look-at-my-happy-kid!-first-day-of-school photos on Facebook, even though many of those photos were of kids I know and love. Where were the photos of the sad kids? Oh yeah. People don't post those. (I will be the first to admit that I was jealous, but I quickly got over it.)

Around noon I debated whether or not I should call his school to check in.  
“What good would it do?” Aaron asked when I called him. “What will you do if you get a negative report? You'll just feel bad.”
I decided against it.

I left work a little early to pick him up. I was speeding and I didn't care. Move over, rush hour drivers! I am on a very important rescue mission! Instead of being the villain (like I was at drop-off), I'd get to be the hero!
When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a little blonde boy standing outside with a group of friends, smiling and playing “Simon Says” with one of the afternoon teachers. When he noticed me, he beamed. He waited until he had his teacher’s permission before leaving the group, then ran to me and threw his arms around my neck. After we hugged, I asked, “So, how was your first day?”
“Mom, I had SO much fun!” he answered.

Come again?

“You did?! You had fun?”

“Yeah, we did shapes and we played outside and we learned about the Farmers’ Market and we have a fish tank in my room and we can feed the fish. You should meet my teacher.” 

“I am SO proud of you, Adam. You were so brave,” I said, feeling like I was going to cry. I gave him another squeeze. America, did you hear that?!?! My nervous, anxious, resistant-to-change son had fun!
I met his afternoon teacher and then he grabbed my hand and pulled me inside, where his morning teacher was teaching a group of kids upstairs. 

“Her room is up here,” he said like an old-pro, leading me past his mailbox and past the lockers and past the chalkboards and sand table and book shelves and bins of dinosaurs and Barbies and trucks and Legos to a door in the back of the room. 
“We sleep on those cots.” He pointed to a stack of cots against the wall. “This one is mine.”

I met his teacher—who was very nice—and she told me he had been apprehensive and shy at first but relaxed after awhile. He even made a friend, CJ. 

Adam was happy in the car, excited to tell me about his day.

“Mom, do you know what hunting is?” he asked.

“Um, yeah.”

“Tell me,” his little voice demanded from the backseat.

“It’s when you go out and shoot animals,” I responded. “Like when Grandpa and your Uncle Shawny go to the woods to hunt for deer.”

“That’s not what hunting is at school. Hunting is when you go around the class and pick up messes.”

Genius.

“I got to be a hunter today,” he proudly announced. “I didn’t get to feed the fish but I will when my name is added to the schedule.”

How do you know the meaning of the word schedule?

We celebrated that night with a trip to Chipotle—just like we promised—and made a big deal of his first day of preschool. 
And I wish I could say “And we all lived happily ever after” but life isn't ever that easy. This whole preschool thing is a work in progress. We're only on chapter one.

I knew, going into this, that it would take some time (a lot of time) to get him used to being at school twice a week. Drop-offs still consist of tears, he still cries during the day, he still gets nervous the night before he goes, he still acts like he can’t wait for me to get there at the end of the day, he still seems more relaxed/happy on the days he goes to daycare. I get it. Daycare is like Cheers—everybody knows his name—and at school he’s the nervous new kid. It's a tough transition. 
But should he still be struggling so much? I hate to hear that he still cries a lot throughout the day—so much so that his teacher told me the staff has had discussions about how to effectively distract him ... and he's only been there four days! I want them to get to know the wonderful, smart, sensitive, kind, caring little boy that is Adam, not the Adam who is constantly crying, who is worried his mom will forget to pick him up, who is too nervous to eat breakfast in the morning, who sits quietly with the group rather than actively participating. When will his behavior turn around? How many weeks will we have to endure the agonizing drop-offs? The when-will-you-come-get-me pick-ups? The tears? The anxiety?
If anything, this whole experience has given Aaron and I the conviction that we made the right decision to pull him out of daycare two days a week and enroll him in preschool, if for no other reason than the fact that this will help him prepare for kindergarten on a social/emotional level. 
I believe, even though this new routine is hard for him, in just two weeks he already seems … different when he's home. Older. More helpful. More respectful. More intelligent. More gentle with his little brother. He’s learning and I love that. I really hope this experience is slowly, patiently, bit-by-painstaking-bit giving him the wings he needs to fly. 

Ben, A Bed Frame, and Seven Stitches

A few weekends ago, we went to the town of Crivitz, Wis., about an hour north of Green Bay, for a college reunion. There were eight girls (we drove from St. Paul, Blaine, Chippewa Falls, Green Bay, Mequon (near Milwaukee) and Spring Grove, Ill.), five guys, and 15 kids under the age of 10. We drank, we swam at the beach, we sat by the campfire, we laughed, we cried along with one of our friends when she got the call that her 68-year-old mom had died (all together now: we hate cancer), just the girls kayaked 13 miles, we ate too much, we drank some more. The kids caught frogs, played on the swing set, argued in the sandbox, chased one another, laughed, acted goofy, cried (at times), swam, fished, and had a blast just doing what kids do on hot summer days when other kids are around and regular rules don't apply. (Cupcakes for breakfast? ok. Bedtime at 11 p.m.? ok. Wear your swimsuit and nothing else all day and night? ok. Play outside barefoot until your feet turn black? ok.)

Nothing says summer like a popsicle! This was just three of the families in Crivitz (minus the two youngest: Ben and Nathan). The following day, three more families arrived. Lots 'o kids!

The college gang decided that—from here on out—we're going to get together with just the girls once every winter and get together once every summer with our families. My only complaint is that another friend in Minneapolis (Leah), and friends in Colorado (Webs), Idaho (Tonya), California (Amy K., honorary UWEC alum), and Indiana (Schmidty) weren't there, too. I can't even remember the last time we were all together. Maybe in April of 2005 at my wedding? And even then Holly was gone, having a baby. (Legitimate excuse)
Anyhow, after a fun four-day trip and a long five-hour car ride home, we unpacked, ate dinner, gave the boys much-needed baths, and told them to pick out their bedtime stories. I knew I still had work (writing) to do and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for 24 hours. I was wiped out. The kids were wiped out. Aaron was wiped out.
As I was putting clothes away in Adam's room, I heard Ben suddenly cry from our room where he was trying to climb up onto the "big bed." I usually wait a second to see if his cry is a "I hurt myself again but I'm alright" cry or one of those all-too-common for a 2-year-old "I'm frustrated!" cries or an "I'm-overtired-and-everything-right-now-makes-me-cry" cry. When no sound came out for a few seconds between his first and second cry, I knew it was the dreaded "HOLY $#@%! I'M IN PAIN!" cry. I hate that cry. It usually means blood is involved.
I was right. When I picked him up, there was a pool of blood forming on the top of his right foot. How did he cut it? I grabbed him, took him into the bathroom, and ran his foot under cold water. As soon as the water washed the blood away, I saw the gash. OMG. Was that the bone? That wasn't the bone, was it? (It wasn't, but it was still disturbingly deep.)
I yelled, "Aaron! Come here! Ben sliced his foot open and it looks really bad!"
Adam was nearly hysterical, Ben was crying, and I was trying not to lose my shit. Aaron came bounding up the stairs, took a look at Ben's foot, and we made the joint decision that it was bad enough to bring him to urgent care. I even called Tonya to ask for a second opinion since, ya know, she works in the ICU and probably sees more open wounds than anyone else I know. (She agreed that we should bring him in.)

                                                                 The injury.

Aaron jumped online and found a nearby urgent care clinic that was open until 10 p.m.
At this point, Adam was in full-on freak-out mode. An example of his dialogue: "I have a cut on my forehead, do I need stitches, too?!? I have to change out of my pajamas?!?! What??? I just put them on! Where are we going!?!? What did Ben do?!?! What are stitches!?!?! How long will we be gone?!?! What do they have to do to him!??!! Are we staying there all night?!?!"
I wanted to yell, "ADAM, CALM DOWN! Why are YOU freaking out?! Ben is the one whose foot looks like the Grand Canyon!" but by now I understand that Adam worries, and stresses, and over-reacts — that is who he is. I try to be sensitive to the fact that he is our worrier, our scaredy cat, our give-me-all-the-information-so-I-can-process-this-situation-in-my-own-way child. He is always thinking. Always.
Ben is our reckless, fearless, "So what? I cut my foot open. What's it to ya? Let's get ice cream" child. Ben reacts, then thinks ... which is probably why we've had to take him to urgent care twice now.
As we headed to Woodbury's Urgency Room, I sat in the backseat and held Ben's foot up so that it was elevated. He didn't cry once in the car, just stared at the blood-soaked towel wrapped around his foot.
"Ben, what happened?" I asked.
"I got an owie," he shrugged.
[You might think I'm exaggerating, but I swear I'm not.]
At the clinic, the boys were eerily well-behaved. I think it was because they were half-asleep, still recovering from an action-packed weekend in Crivitz. The nurse complimented us on our kids' behavior and complained about some parents who let their little ones "run all over." I know those kids ... those kids have been ours, too. It can be a challenge trying to keep active kids entertained when you're cooped up in a doctor's office. I have done my fair share of kid-bouncing, jiggling, reading, and singing before swearing to myself, "Damn you, Doctor XYZ! Where are you? And damn you too, nurse So-and-So, for sticking us in this holding cell before the doc was ready to see us! There were toys in the lobby. There are no toys in this room!"
But this was urgent care—with, I'm sure, a big, fat urgent care bill to go along with it—and we had a TV to entertain the kids until the doc came in. We were also offered juiceboxes and bottled water. And lobster and filet mignon. And a bottle of pinot gris. (wouldn't that be nice?)
The doctor came in, gently held Ben's foot in his hand, said the cut was "superficial" but that we made the right decision to bring him in (I'm always worried that we're over-reacting), determined that Ben needed stitches, asked the nurse to put the numbing agent around the wound (Ben cried a little at this point - protesting "It's cold! It's cold!"). He also cried/protested when I had to get off the bed, where Ben had been leaning back against me, and leave Ben on there without me so the doctor could do his thing. I think he cried more about this than he did the actual injury. After the numbing agent kicked in (30 minutes or so), the doctor returned to sew my little boy's foot back together. Adam had to turn his head away while the doctor was closing the wound, but Ben wanted to watch every last stitch (there were seven). He loudly yelled "It HURTS!" at the very end, when the doctor admitted the numbing agent probably hadn't kicked in all over and "he might feel this part."Usually, though, I was able to distract him with questions. Thank God, too, for his blankie. That thing has come in handy so many times when Ben has needed comforting.

 Ben upset that I had to leave him all alone on that big, scary hospital bed. "Get up here, Mom!"

The nurse commented that Ben was very brave and abnormally calm for a 2-year-old. I agreed. I was expecting him to thrash or scream or try to run away. He didn't do any of those things. I mean, the kid watched the doctor put in the stitches. How can he belong to me? I am the girl who has to put her head between her legs when she gets her finger pricked. I am a class-A wuss.
The nurse brought the boys each a freezie, we filled out some paperwork, and we were on our way. It was a very slick process. 
We later figured out that Ben caught a sharp part of our bed frame when trying to hoist himself onto our bed. It's the only sharp part under our bed, and if you lined up 1,000 kids and had them do the exact same thing, I bet the other 999 would come away unscathed. If he can hurt himself, odds are, he will.
For a week, Ben had to stay out of swimming pools and bathtubs (no fun when the temps were hovering near 100 degrees and the daycare kids were all outside splashing in the little pool). He was good at daycare, though, and understood that he couldn't swim and he couldn't run around barefoot. That Sunday I returned to The Urgency Room so he could get the stitches removed, since they told us it was a free service. Aaron was golfing so I was on my own with the kids. 
So ... we went. And the cut had not fully healed. The paramedic who carefully took out each of the seven stitches had to call in a (very, very good-looking) doctor, who said, "Well, I won't go ahead and put in more stitches" [WHAT?! You just took them out!] "but, in order for Ben not to bust his foot open again, we need to put on these steri-strips and keep him out of the water for another few days."
Ben stayed out of the pool for another week and — knock on wood — looks like his wound has finally healed. 
Please-please-please let this be the only urgent care/ER visit of the year. Is that really too much to ask?

Maybe, if we kept him in a box, he wouldn't keep hurting himself?

Two

It's mind-blowing, really, how much a baby changes in the span of his/her first year, and equally amazing how much he/she changes from years one to two. What a fun (and exhausting!) year this has been, even with Ben losing a tooth in October and needing surgery at Children's Hospital.
He is such an energetic, smart, stubborn, opinionated, sassy, sweet, serious, skeptical, funny little guy. They call him the class clown at daycare.
He talks a lot, but here are a few key expressions that come to mind: "STOP COPYING ME!" "Adam's NAUGHTY!" "Ben's the boss!" (Aaron is quick to correct him) "Hold you me" (hold me) "Pip killed the bunny" (Ben never saw this, just overheard my parents talking about their cat, Pip, and how a certain bunny met his untimely demise. I don't even think Ben knows what "killed" means (at least, I hope not) I think he says it for the shock factor. He'll bring it up at the most random times), "Grandma Cake can't run anymore" (Grandma Cake is my grandma, Kate, and she now walks with a cane. Ben is fixated on this, and like the Pip story, he'll bring it up randomly — even when my grandma is nowhere nearby) "Can't get me!" (he loves playing tag) "Cool dude!" (whenever he's wearing his sunglasses) "Tiko-tiko" (as he's attempting to tickle someone) "May-wee" (Mary, our daycare provider) "Apro" (his 19-year-old cousin April), "Kay-wah (his 11-year-old cousin Kayla) "Moe-gan" (his 4-year-old cousin Morgan), "Mox" (his 5-year-old cousin Max), "Gwamma" and "Gwampa" (my parents). He likes playing with his cousins, and when he's naming off his daycare friends (Sammy, Zander, Taylor) he includes his uncle Josh (his godfather) among them. His aunties Amy, April, and Trish spoil him with hugs and kisses, as do his uncles Shawn, Josh, Nick, and Jake (I have a feeling he'll develop a bond with Jake someday). He calls my MIL by her first name — Patti — not "Grandma Patti" and he adores her. He knows that I am Chrissy, Daddy is Aaron, and Adam is his brother. He knows all about Auntie Tonya (his godmother) and Baby Evan out in Idaho (I'll blog about that trip at some point!). He also knows that he's 2 and Adam "is going to be five."
Like most 2-year-olds, he likes playing at the park, playing with cars and trucks (dump trucks, diggers, anything with flashing lights and annoying sounds), climbing, swinging, going down slides, swimming, waterparks (he still talks about the Kalahari — and we went there in April), throwing, kicking, or hitting balls, chasing his friends (or being chased), playdates with Greta, Aliza, Sadie, Jacob, Broder, Jack, Reese and Sofia, books and shows about Thomas the Train, Elmo, Mickey Mouse, Caillou, Super Why (and the Super Readers), Fireman Sam, and Curious George.
He is still very attached to his blankets — one blue, one green. They comfort him when he's anxious, soothe him when he's tired, and pacify him when he's bored. It's kind of ironic that we tried so hard to avoid giving him a Nuk (Aaron would let Ben suck on his finger for ever when he was a baby rather than stick a pacifier in his mouth), and now Ben's just as attached to "blankies" as Adam was to "Nukies." I hope he's not one of those college kids who sleeps with a piece of ratty old baby blanket under his pillow.
He is an excellent eater and will eat almost anything we put in front of him. At his 3-year checkup, he was 3 feet tall and weighed 33 pounds, putting him in the 95th percentile. I did the Baby Center estimate to see how tall he'd be at 18, and the estimate was 6'2". I'll take it. (Adam's was 5'6". I hope his is wrong.) His favorite foods are similar to Adam's favorites: pesto noodles, French fries, hamburgers, Morning Star chickpea nuggets, Chipotle burrito bowls, rotisserie chicken without the skin, blueberries, apples, oranges, pineapple, bananas, pickles, gold fish crackers, Cheetos (he would eat a whole bag if we let him), juice and milk. He won't drink chocolate milk but drinks white milk like it's goin' out of style. He also likes water — something Adam doesn't like. (I admit we have to work on this.)
He can be tough at times. I've seen him tackle Adam and reduce him to tears, I've seen him wrestle toys away from Adam, I've seen him pick up large toys and hold them over his head like a mini Hulk. He plays a lot more rough-and-tumble than his big brother ever did (who, at 35 pounds, won't be the big brother for much longer). When Ben was a chubby newborn, our pediatric doctor was astounded that he didn't cry after his circumcision (a first in her experience), and a nurse recently was surprised when she pricked his finger to check his blood for lead (which came back normal, thankfully. Last year it came back high and he had to be re-tested) and he didn't flinch, and then didn't cry when she gave him a shot. I don't know if he has a high tolerance for pain or if he's in shock. I just know I feel a lot less guilty when he's not howling hysterically after a trip to the doctor's office.
One of his favorite toys is his lawn mower. Sometimes we bring it to our softball games so he can "lawn the grass" (as Adam would say) while one of the grandmas is babysitting. He loves animals and any time we pass a dog (at the park, at softball, on a walk), he announces "I wanna pet it!" I'm trying to teach him that he MUST ask the owner first if it's ok. He's been knocked over by little dogs and licked like crazy by big ones, and so far he isn't traumatized. I wish we a) lived in a bigger house or b) weren't gone from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. so we could get either a cat or a dog. I bring the boys to PetSmart sometimes because it's on our way home from daycare and it's free entertainment. It can be heartbreaking, though, seeing those beautiful kitties in their cages, patiently waiting to be chosen. Adam knows that we will get a dog "some day, when we live in a different house."
Ben is a jumper. He jumps ALL THE TIME. His favorite thing to do is jump off the last step of any staircase or flight of steps, no matter where we are. I know this is coming, so make sure to hold his hand. (We don't need any more trips to the ER.)
He likes to ride his bike (or, more accurately, sit on the bike while we push him around) and never argues when we put on his helmet. He has a tendency to argue about a lot of other things, so I'm thankful that he just wears the helmet without protesting.
He's a natural athlete, or at least he seems to be so far. There are some kids on Adam's t-ball team who are at Ben's skill level (and height!). A few of the 4 and 5-year-olds had never thrown a ball before joining t-ball, which is hard to believe, but maybe their parents just don't have an interest in sports? And maybe, on the flip side, some parents would think it's nuts that Ben and Adam don't play an instrument or know how to read (yet) or tie their own shoes or eat sushi. Anyhow, Ben thinks he's on Adam's team, and I have to regularly chase him when he tries to run out on the field during the games. Since Aaron is the coach, we let Ben hit balls off the tee after the other kids go home, and that way he feels like he's also playing. When he gets a good hit, he announces "I SMACKED that ball!" and then proceeds to run to the pitcher's mound, or left field, or over to the bench. (He's too young to understand the base-running concept.)
He likes taking naps and going to bed, and he will ask you to bring him to bed if he's overtired. He still sleeps in a crib in our room, but we're talking about moving him in with Adam this summer. Fingers crossed that the transition works out well for all four of us.
He can be charming and witty and so full of life, and when he laughs with delight "Do it AGAIN, Mama!" "AGAIN, Daddy!" "Watch me! I'm FUNNY!" my heart feels full to the point of overflowing, so filled up I can hardly stand it, and justlikethat he'll bring me down to earth with a 2-year-old temper tantrum as he whips his sippy cup across the room in frustration, crosses his arms defiantly over his chest, and shouts "NO! I NO WANT TO!" but man oh man am I in love with him. Ben's first birthday party. He REALLY liked the cake. A lot. Little buddy Jack. Summer, summer, summer time ... Ryder visits from Cali. Happy Halloween! Relaxing at the retreat. First snowfall of the season. A different point of view. Cutting down our Christmas tree. December 2011. Ben with his big cousin "Apro". Look! He's sitting still! I love this kid so much. Pure joy. Little ham. Checking out cousin Lily. Future Lunds shoppers. We pretend he's on the team. Mr. Sunshine with Uncle Shawny. Cupcake celebration at home. I did it! Hooray! I'm TWO!!!

Friends, some day

I know a lot of parents say this, possibly to the point of it sounding cliché, but it’s so, so true … so I’m going to repeat it. When you fall deeply in love with your firstborn, you wonder if you’ll be able to love another child with that same intensity.

I wondered if my relationship, my bond, my connection with Ben would be totally different than how I feel about Adam.

I wondered, “Will there be enough of me to go around?”
I wondered if Adam would resent Ben (he did), if he would be jealous (he was), if he would understand why he had to "share" me (he didn't). 

It was hard, at first, feeling like I wasn’t paying enough attention to the little boy who taught me how to be a mom, feeling like I was choosing Ben over Adam when I had to feed Ben, change him, suddenly drop whatever I was doing to save him from sudden disaster (I have done my fair share of "saving" over these past two years, that's for sure!). I felt like I was somehow abandoning my beautiful little blond-eyed buddy. I worried that he’d think I was “replacing” him. I wondered if he would ever begin to see his little brother as a playmate, a friend, a constant companion rather than a nuisance and a burden. 

Gradually (definitely not all at once), we have become a tight-knit family of four. My heart swells when I see those rare moments when the boys play together, laugh together, even fight (is it bad to laugh when they're both so upset?) … I hope these moments are the start of a life-long bond, the kind of bond you can only share with a sibling. I hope Ben is the best man in Adam’s wedding one day; and vice versa. 

They’re as different as night and day, yet they both wholeheartedly have my love. And some day I hope they wholeheartedly have each other's love, too.

Winter Recap + Lucky Seven

Annual friends/family ice fishing contest on Forest Lake (organized by my big brother Shawn). It was freeeeezing cold outside, yet somehow still fun to get outside on a winter day.


Aaron and I went snowboarding at Trollhaugen Jan. 22 through the Media Ski Series. Benefits = discounted lift tickets and riding with work buddies!


GMG represent! Coworkers/friends Alex, Katie and I boarded (not pictured = Jeremy, who was preparing to race when we took this shot, and my boss Sara, who was in the chalet); Kelly skied. Super fun day.


The hosts of Rem's baby shower at Karla's house in Stillwater Jan. 29 - Katie, Megan, Karla, me, Rem, and Amy (aka Money). I love these girls! Remme had two beautiful baby girls March 7, Reese and Sofia. And life forever changed in their household ...


Birthday tradition - snowtubing at Green Acres! Lots of people missing from this pic (my sis-in-law Amy, Jake, and nieces Kayla and Morgan; my friend Amy, husband Andy, her sister Carla and Carla's friend; my sis-in-law April and nephew Lane; friends Tara & Jeremy).


Getting ready to do a whip chain! Wheeeeeee!


Happy third birthday to me!


My niece April and Ben, hanging out in Forest Lake. It's hard to get a good pic of Ben smiling, but you can really see his gap in this one.


We went out to support Aaron's dad Rick and his girlfriend Tami as they participated with the Lexington Fire Department in the Fight for Air Stair Climb Feb. 25 at the Accenture Tower downtown Minneapolis. They climbed 660 stairs (!) and helped raise funds for the American Lung Association.


Grandma Patti's Annual Sleepover March 3. Adam is trying to teach his cousin Logan how to spell a new word! Poop! Yes, I'm a proud parent. (ha ha)


Beautiful niece Morgan at the sleepover. I never did get a pic of cousins Max or Lane; cousin Kayla was at her dad's. Group shot next year!


My family came out to our company's Food & Wine Experience March 4 at Target Field. I had to work the show, but was able to walk around with them for about 20 minutes. So much to eat! So much to drink! So little time!


Last day of swimming lessons at Como Elementary, March 10. Another good season.


Our Water Baby and Tiny Tot.


The grandkids sure do love Grandma Patti. She's pretty amazing.


On the way to our friend Shane's 40th birthday bash in Rochester. (We only rode this way for a few miles.)


Some of Aaron's friends from high school (minus Rem, Russ and Chad) ... such a fun group. We try to get together once a year without the kids; once every year or two with the kids. I think there were 17 kids at the last get-together.


Garage in the suburbs of Rochester is transformed into Wild Dance Party ... crazy night.


Who says it's easy being green? Life ain't easy, sister.



Cousin Lane's birthday party in St. Francis.


I love that my dad and Aaron are friends. My dad loves that Aaron is always willing to help in any way. Aaron loves that my dad teaches him as they go.


Perfect spring day at a park in Roseville.


Daycare buddies preparing for the Easter egg hunt. Can we go now? Can we go now? Can we go now? How about now?


Visiting Rem and the twins. Adorable babies!


I used to ride kiddy tractors just like these on my grandparents' farm in New Richmond. Good memories.


I love this guy so much. Sometimes I have to pinch myself — it's not a dream! Life isn't perfect, but we are a pretty solid team. I know it sounds cheesy, but Aaron completes me.
Today is our seventh wedding anniversary.