Asleep.

I don't always sleep well.  I can usually GO to sleep ok, then when 2am rolls around I'm wide awake and thinking of every bad decision and awkward encounter I've ever had.  The next day's to-do list swirls through my mind like so many angry sheep.  It's not every night, but it's often enough that there are a few days each week when I think a mid-afternoon nap might be in order.  Sometimes I even try to take one, but something about my farm girl brain is hard wired to not allow sleep in daylight hours - ever.  

As a result, there are days I exist on coffee and a short temper to get me through until bedtime, when I get to try it all over again. 

Sometimes when 2am becomes 3am and then 4am and I just give up and get up for the day, I see posts from people on Facebook and Twitter about insomnia and I know it's not just me.  It seems to be a fairly common occurrence among the people I know.  As adults, we all seem to struggle from time to time with getting to sleep or with staying asleep, and the common theme that I see and hear it that for whatever reason, we cannot shut our brains off.

It really sucks that as a society we are all so busy and stressed and absolutely exhausted that we just can't sleep well.

It hasn't always been this way for me.  I don't even remember having problems sleeping when I was a kid.  I maybe had a few less than restful nights in high school, but only a few.  The same is true with college.  I stayed up late on purpose sometimes, studying for tests, but when it was time to sleep I could sleep, no problem.

My first restless nights definitely came as an grown-up.  Once I was on my own in the world, dealing with jobs and bills and people and things and just... LIFE, the sleeplessness really took a hold on me, and it's been there ever since.   Like I said, it isn't every night, or even every week, but when it happens, it happens hard.

One of the things I miss the most about being a kid is the ability to sleep totally unencumbered by life.  My kids are great sleepers, and can fall asleep at a moment's notice where ever they happen to be.  Cooper is especially notorious for falling asleep in odd places.

 He sleeps in cars.

He sleeps on the couch.

He sleeps on me (and other people).

He sleeps at the grocery store.

He sleeps... well, wherever.

I'm always amazed.  He will be in the middle of a sentence, the middle of a meal, whatever.  But if he's sleepy, he sleeps.

How amazing that must be - to have so few worries or responsibilities that you can just drop off wherever and whenever you feel the urge.  And how freeing must it be to know that if you sleep, someone will be there to look out for you, to keep you from falling, to keep you safe, to carry you to bed if you need it.

I hope he never loses this ability.  Sure, it might be a little awkward to doze off in the middle of math class or whatever, but the underlying feeling of safety and security and rightness with the world is something I hope he is able to hold onto as long as possible.

But I know it won't last long.  Just like it did for me, life will start to get in the way.  Realities will take over.  Uninterrupted, blissful sleep will be replaced by an occasional worry or problem or frustration and someday he will be the one who is up at 2am, then 3am, wondering why it's so hard to sleep at night.

So for now, I'm going to let him make the most of it.  If he needs to sleep in the cart at the grocery, I will  carefully put him in the car.  If he falls asleep on my lap as he often does, I will sit so, so still so I don't disturb him.  

This time of freedom from worries will pass quickly, and I want him to enjoy every minute of it, even though he doesn't even realize it's happening. 

His memories.

I sighed when I heard his little feet patter across the floor.

I had once again gotten up early to write, only to be joined almost immediately by Cooper, who seems to have a sixth sense that alerts him the minute I open my computer.

He wandered into my office, all warm and cozy in that rosy, half-asleep way that only only little kids seem to have.  He climbed into my lap and kissed the tip of my nose like he always does first thing in the morning and last thing at night, then said "Good morning, Mama.  Can we look at our memories now?"  He snuggled against me and sighed a happy little sigh, because in his world he could not imagine that I wouldn't want to do the same thing, or that I would deny him this simple request.

To look at his memories.

That's what he calls pictures.  He has for as long as I can remember.  It isn't something that I taught him or something that I have ever said to him.  But to him all the pictures stored on my computer are his memories, and he will happily sit for hours looking at them, commenting on every single one. "Oh I remember that day!  Don'y you remember, Mama?  We had such a good time!" 

I opened up my picture file and we looked.  We looked at trips to the park and the zoo and the beach.  We looked at fabulous shots taken with my "fancy" camera and blurry iPhone ones.  We looked at family vacations and ordinary days spent at home and everything in between.  He gasped with joy and commented on each and every one.  "Look Mama!  There we are making a craft!  Aw, I remember that time we went there, don't you, Mama?"  and so on.  And so on. 

After about an hour and without any warning at all, he sighed and stretched and turned around from his perch on my lap to give me one more kiss on the tip of my nose - an extra one on this day.  "I like looking at our memories.  Don't you, Mama?"

And I really did.  

I really, really did.

Thankful every day.

Eternal optimism.

I'm a pessimist of the worst kind.

Not only do I assume the worst will likely happen, I often expend a great deal of energy and time and resources going through all the potential worst case scenarios in my mind about any given topic.

R tells me all the time that worst case scenarios are my superpower.

Let me assure you, it's hard work being this negative all the time.  

Zachary is just like me, to the tenth power. I secretly call him Eeyore.  If he had a clue what that meant, I'm sure it would make him grumpy just like everything else does. 

And then there's Cooper. 

He was a ridiculously happy baby who turned into a happy toddler and is now a happy preschooler.  Sometimes R and I discuss this with a sense of awe and wonderment, and then we (as we are prone to do) just assume it won't last, because how could an optimist survive in a house full of pessimists? 

Yet he continues to prove us wrong, over and over.

Let me give you an example.  For as many years as I can remember, there has been a McDonald's that we drive past almost daily.  It was one of those designed in the early 80s with the indoor playground, and it (much to my dismay) has always been the boys' favorite place to eat because - HELLO! - giant slides filled with old french fries and unimaginable germs are the absolute best!  Anyway, one day we drove by and it was just... gone.  Completely.  Overnight, it had been torn down and replaced with a giant sign that said "CLOSD (sic) FOR REBUILD." 

Zachary said "Oh man! Our McDonald's is gone! That stinks! We'll never get to eat there again!" Then Cooper said "They will put a new McDonald's there!  It will be better than the last one!"

I withheld judgement.

Every day we would drive past it, and it became a topic of heated debate in our car. 

"I bet the new McDonald's will have an awesome new playground!" Cooper would speculate every single day.  

I tried to let him down easy.  "Honey, I don't think they will rebuild the playground," I said gently. "I think this McDonald's will only have places to sit and eat."

"No," he said, every single time.  "It will have a playground."  He was so certain about it, because what good is processed chicken product without a sliding board?  

Every day that we drove by and saw the new store being built, he would speculate and dream about how awesome the new playground at the new McDonald's would be.  As the walls started to go up and I could tell with absolute certainty that this building would not house a new playground, I tried to become more matter of fact with Cooper. "See?" I would say as we drove by.  "There's no space for a playground there.  The new McDonald's won't have a playground."

"Oh, I think it will," Cooper answered.  Every. Single. Time.

Even after the roof and windows and everything else had been installed, and you could see without a shadow of a doubt that there was no playground, Cooper held strong.  "Maybe it's around back!"  he said. 

The store reopened with little fanfare, and both the boys kept clamoring to go there.  I really try to avoid McDonald's at all costs, but finally I gave in and after we walked in and exclaimed over the new chairs - so colorful! and the new lights - how cool! and sat down to eat, I asked Cooper, "Are you terribly disappointed that there's no playground here?"

He looked at me with a look that I can only describe as pity, then he said, "Oh, Mama, it's ok.  They just haven't built it YET."

Keep on believing, kid.  The world needs more people like you.

Dressed for success.

I've mentioned time and again that I'm not so much a fan of shopping for clothes, and that I'm certainly no fashionista.  I like jeans, t-shirts with superheroes on them, and my running shoes.  It's comfortable, practical, and that's that.

Zachary tends toward comfort over fashion, too, and his preferred outfit is nylon running pants, a stained white t-shirt and no footwear of any kind.  He also has a prolific selection of sleeveless shirts that he would like to wear all winter long.  My one and only ongoing battle with him is that I will not allow him to wear ripped up sweatpants to school, which apparently puts me in the "meanie" category.  

He also really prefers to wear things that are several sizes too large for him.  He says they are more comfortable, and honestly, the kid has a point.  

 And then, well, then there's Cooper.

Cooper likes to dress like this:

And like this:

And this:

Or like any of these:

And to be quite honest, I'm so baffled by this that I don't even know how to react most of the time when he insists on wearing a bow tie to go Krogering. 

I let him, by the way.  

Just the other day he asked me "Mama, do these shoes look better with this outfit, or should I wear my cowboy boots?"  

Now, I don't know much about fashion AT ALL, but I feel certain that cowboy boots win every single time.

I learn something every day parenting my kids, but I never really thought I would be in the position to need to know the latest fashion trends for a four year old.

Maybe soon enough he can give me some pointers. 

In the eye.

I don't typically pay much attention to my appearance, but on this particular day, I was feeling fat.  Frumpy.  Forty-ish. 

Occasionally I go through phases where I try to actually wear clothes from this decade, but it's just usually not a priority for me.  I'm a happy girl in my jeans and t-shirts, and they require little to no thought.  I like not having to think about what I'm wearing.

But, I had an EVENT coming up.  An event where I would have to leave the house.  An event where I would have to dress up.  An event where I would see people I used to know well but hadn't seen for years.  An EVENT.

I hate events.

I had dumped my kids with my sister and spent nearly an entire day trying on clothes at every store in town in an attempt to find something suitable to wear.  I tried on every dress and skirt in the entire city that day, only to keep letting the negative thoughts creep in - "You're too short for that." "Your boobs are gigantic in that."  "That would only look good on a size 2, which you are CERTAINLY not." and I left empty handed, dejected, and feeling frumpy. Outdated. Dowdy.

Since the EVENT was rapidly approaching, I spent the next day trying on everything in my closet, and the negative thoughts continued.  "Why did you every even buy that?  It looks awful on you."  "HA!  1998 called - it wants it's clothes back."  I had just pulled on a dress of undetermined origin and was mentally berating how it showed my fat (insert random body part here) when Cooper wandered in.

"MAMA!"  he gasped.  "You look so beautiful!  You look like a pretty, pretty princess!" he said.  And then he laughed and ran up to me.  "May I have this dance, my pretty, pretty princess?"

So there we stood in the middle of my bathroom which was strewn with discarded outfits, dancing to music only my four year old could hear, and for just a minute, I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world.

Oh, nuts.

The other day Cooper was running around doing this and that while I was busy in the kitchen eating Nutella out of the jar cooking dinner. 

I heard a loud CRASH! followed by a BOOM! followed by a four year old's voice (MY four year old, to be perfectly clear) yell "OW!  My nuts!"

I decided on the spot that this was one of those pivotal parenting moments, the ones that probably change the course of a child's life and all that jazz, but this Nutella certainly wasn't going to eat itself, so I completely ignored him.

Then he yelled, quite loudly I might add, "MAMA!  I HURT MY NUTS!"

I guess there was no getting out of this one.

I sighed, licked the last bit of Nutella off my spoon, and as I was putting the lid back on the jar, I carefully started formulating my response and wondering how we had gotten here. I mean, really, where does the kid pick this stuff up?  He's FOUR.  He doesn't even go to school.  I seriously doubt he learned it at story time at the library.  

I promptly decided he had likely picked up that kind of language from his big brother, or possibly one of his big brother's friends, who come around quite a lot because the popsicles are good here and also because we have enough trees in our yard for everyone to hide behind during their rousing and uplifting games of Zombie Apocalypse.  (This is what they play.  It's apparently quite fun.  It's like tag, but with zombies and weapons.  Yes, my parenting skills are questionable at best.) 

"So Cooper," I began tentatively, "you hurt your... nuts?"

"YES! I HURT MY NUTS!"  he yelled.

"Oh, well.  Do you need an ice pack?" I asked.  It's not like I really wanted to check the situation out for myself if I could help it.  Plus he wasn't actively sobbing, so I figured it wasn't too bad.

"YES!" he yelled.  Apparently hurting one's nuts makes one quite loud.  "I need an ice pack for my nuts!"

So I trotted off to the freezer and grabbed the Incredible Hulk ice pack - desperate times call for HULK SMASH! measures here - which I handed to him.

He promptly took the ice pack and held it against his... head.

Justwalkawayjustwalkawayjustwalkaway.  Shit.  I can't walk away.

"Um, Cooper, I, um, thought you hurt your, um, nuts, not your head."  Seriously.  Mother of the year right here.

"Yeah," he responded, totally nonchalantly.  "My coconuts."  Then he reached up and rapped his knuckles on his head, complete with hollow "THUNK THUNK THUNK" sound effects.

Oh.  His COCOnuts.

Of course.

That's not exactly how I would use it in a sentence, but we value creativity here.

A little bit more thunking and a little bit more HULK SMASHING with the ice pack in tow led me to believe his nuts... um, coconuts weren't permanently damaged, so we went on with our day, coconuts firmly in place and ready to take on the world.


THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. 

Learning new things with gusto.

Talk about something your child learned this week.

So the other day, I've just sent my kids out to play and I'm just getting ready to sit down with my Entertainment Weekly magazine, which is my guilty weekly pleasure, when I hear the doorbell.

DING-DONG.

I ignored it for a minute, thinking surely it must be one of my kids wanting a drink of water or a popsicle or a bandaid or for me to rescue a kite out of the kite-eating tree.  Usually if I don't answer right away, they wander off to do something else, but then it rang again, more insistently this time.

DDDIIINNNNGGGG-DDDOOONNNGGG.

I answered the door, and it was one of the neighborhood kids.

"Miss Jo," the kid says, (which is not my name at all but is MUCH closer than the "Hey" or "Hey, Zachary's mom" than I usually get) "Miss Jo, Zachary said a bad word.  A dirty word.  Ya know, a cuss word."

Well shit.  Where would he have learned THAT?

I thanked the kid for letting me know and then called Zachary inside where I said all the appropriate things to him including "Mama doesn't always set the best example about this, you know, but how about we both try harder since we both know better, ok?"

Then I sent him along to play and poured myself a small glass of wine even though it was the middle of the day, because this parenting business, it's HARD and sometimes you just need to shout a profanity or have a drink but then you're a "bad example" or whatever and how are these children ever going to grow up and lead normal happy productive lives with me at the helm?  HOW???

Whew.  Calm down mj.  Calm. Down.

And on the complete other end of the spectrum, the very next day I dropped Cooper off for his Kindergarden 101 class at the local library.  When I picked him up, I said, "So, what did you learn today?" and I totally expected it to be something like the letter B or the color blue something about dinosaurs but instead he said "I learned the months of the year."

Oh really?  Really kid?  You can't remember to ever flush the toilet EVER even though I tell you to every day - EVERY DAY -  but I leave you alone with a stranger for about a minute and suddenly you know all the months of the year?

"Oh yeah?" I said to him.  "Prove it."

So he did.

And that's the story of what my kids learned this week.  One learned to cuss and one learned all the months of the year.  Sadly, I can only take credit for one of those accomplishments.


Did your kids learn anything new this week?

On bad coffee, fresh perspectives and an attitude adjustment.

Last Monday morning, I stumbled out of bed early, EARLY, like I do, so I could possibly carve out a few minutes of the day to have to myself.   I poured my coffee, still not really awake, and sat down at the computer so I could enjoy a few minutes to myself before the mad rush of the day really got underway. 

I hadn't been sitting there a minute before I heard the smack-smack-smack of little feet on the floor, and my attitude took a turn for the worse because I knew that any hope of time to myself was going to go straight out the window.  I was quite literally in the middle of a self-serving, long-suffering sigh when I heard Cooper's door open and then I heard him quite clearly say, "YYYYEEEESSSSSS!!!!  Morning time!" Although I couldn't see him, I imagined there was a fist pump that probably accompanied it.

It completely stopped my sigh (and me) in it's tracks.  

This child, with all the joy and eagerness that his entire four year old being could muster, was looking forward to this dreary Monday morning in a way I could never even begin to imagine.  The whole day was ahead of him, and unlike me, who was running through a mental list of should-dos, must-dos, and will-put-offs from the moment my eyes opened, all he saw in front of him was a huge blank slate of... possibility.

I don't know when - if ever - I've greeted a day with that kind of exuberance.  I was fretful as a kid, always worrying about things far beyond my scope and reach.  As I grew older and the pressures of living in the world grew, too, this just magnified in intensity.  There are just so many things to worry about, and so many things that have to be done, and so many responsibilities and so much EVERYTHING that I don't know if I've ever, ever looked at a day like that.

But Cooper does.

And although not every day is greeted with quite the same verbalized enthusiasm as last Monday morning was, he is the kind of person who knows, just KNOWS, that every day has something amazing to offer.   He did not learn this from me.  For me, it's too easy to let myself become mired down in the everyday and to forget to really live my life instead of letting my life float by with me as merely a rider, or even worse, a spectator.

I'd love to be able to say that this was a huge turning point for me and we spent the day eating ice cream and flying kites, but the laundry still had to be done, the meals prepared, the errands run.

But the next morning, right before I crawled out of bed into the darkness to start my day of endless lists, housework and must-dos,  I whispered quietly to myself, "Yes. Morning time." 

Calm, cool and collected.

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The other day I was in the kitchen cooking dinner (fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans if anybody cares) and Cooper was running around the house being his usual busy self.  R had taken Zachary for a haircut and they were due back soon, so I was focused on getting dinner ready so we could all eat together, which is a rare treat for us because of the hours R usually works.

Anyway, Cooper rounded the corner by the kitchen at a pretty good clip and I guess his superpowers have started to develop, because he somehow became airborne and went flying into the corner of the table that holds the fish tank.  I KNEW those fish were going to be trouble.

He stood up and looked startled for a minute, then said, "I'm ok."

Of course, he was not ok.

10 things to smile about.

This week, Mama Kat told me to write: 

10 Things to Smile About (inspired by Things I Can't Say)

1.  This boy.  THIS BOY just studied for, tested for and will receive (tonight!) his blue belt in Tae Kwon Do.  That means he's only four steps away from the black belt.  Seriously.  Putting him in Tae Kwon Do classes has been one of the best decisions R and I have made for Zachary.  It's increased his confidence, his ability to concentrate, his balance and coordination, and his understanding of respect and rank and honor by about a million.


2.  I secured Cooper a spot in our local library's Kindergarten 101 class, which starts in September.  It's not the three day a week preschool I wanted for him, but I was thrilled to find this for him (and me).  It will do him a world of good, I think.  And it's free!  I love free!

3.  Zachary started second grade last week.  SECOND GRADE.  This one is definitely a double edged sword, because I'm thrilled for him and he's thrilled to be there, but I can't believe how quickly the years are passing.

4.  Speaking of Zachary starting second grade, on the morning of the first day when he was telling Cooper goodbye, I overheard him say "Cooper I know you'll miss me today.  I'll miss you too, but it's ok with me if you want to play in my room today while I'm at school, so you maybe won't miss me so much."  These little unscripted, unplanned moments when I see how much they love each other and are willing to take care of each other melt my heart.  Big time.

5.  I finally broke down and signed Zachary and myself up for The Color Run that's happening close to me.  After the Lunar 5k debacle I wasn't sure I would do it, but R and Cooper will be sitting this one out, so Zachary and I can focus on having a great run together.  This will be Zachary's third 5k, and if it goes well, I just might look for another local race or two for us in the fall.

6.  R and I got a long-overdue date night recently thanks to my sister, who took the kids OVERNIGHT.  That is an unprecedented amount of time that I have been away from them, and R and I celebrated by eating Indian food, then coming home and going to sleep at about 9pm.  We're not really the partiers we once were...

7.  My friend Natalie is in the process of starting her own fresh juice business.  It's called Zest! Juice for life, and you can check out their website atzestjuiceforlife.com or their Facebook page here.  I am so proud of her for going after what she wants!  

8.  Thanks to an overabundant tomato crop from my sister's garden, I learned how to can tomatoes this year.  I was intimidated by all the steps in the process, but it turned out to be super easy, and all my jars sealed properly.  It made me feel totally capable and pioneer-ish.

9.  I feel like I'm finally getting back into the swing of running regularly after a fairly miserable and inconsistent showing this summer.  At 640 miles +/- so far, I'm still on the right track to make my goal of 1,000 for the year.  It's all downhill from here!

10.  It's your turn!  Tell me something good in the comments to make me smile.  Even if you just normally lurk without commenting (I know you're there!!!), you're up!  I can always use something else to make me happy.

Underdog.

In choosing which prompt I wanted to write about today, I decided to repost something I originally wrote last fall.  I've never done that before, and if you're a longtime reader, feel free to move on along... But I felt like it was a good enough story to share (again).  And it's a perfect fit for the prompt:

Write a post inspired by the word: brave.

When Cooper was an infant, then a toddler, I was secretly worried about his willingness to interact with unfamiliar people.  For the longest time, he was totally uninterested in anyone who wasn't in his nuclear little family, and he wouldn't even make eye contact with people he didn't know well.

But he was a charmer and a talker around me, R and Zachary, so I figured it might be something that would work itself out.

And ever so slowly, he has started to come out of his shell - just a little.

He's still reserved and quiet around people he's unfamiliar with, and I've never even had to bother with the whole "don't talk to strangers" routine, because I know darn good and well he will absolutely NOT ever no matter what talk to you if he doesn't a) know you and b) like you.  He won't even usually answer when spoken directly to unless I tell him pointedly "Say hello, Cooper.  That person is talking to you."

Not long ago he and I were standing outside somewhere, waiting - always waiting - on something, and a man with a dog walked up.  The indifference Cooper shows toward many people does not extend to dogs.  He loves them joyfully, gleefully, every one of them, in every doggy shape and size.  He looked at me, and I could tell that he wanted me to smooth the way for him to be able to pet the dog, so I asked for him.  "Could my little boy pet your dog?" 

The man, who was friendly enough, smiled and said "Sure, here ya go," then yanked on the dog's chain to get him (or her, I don't really know) to sit down.  "Sit!" he commanded, and when the dog didn't respond immediately, he smacked him on the rump, then the nose.  "SIT!" he said again.

Cooper looked up at me, totally appalled.  He pulled on my hand urgently until I leaned down, and then he whispered "Him HIT that doggy, Mama.  That's not NICE."

Oh lord.

I hemmed and hawed and stuttered around for a minute, trying to think of the right thing to say and/or do.  On one hand, it wasn't really any of our business how this man got his dog to sit, but on the other I have spent way too many hours teaching my boys kindness and gentleness and how we NEVER, EVER hit to let this one little moment undo all that work.

It was a decision Cooper took, quite firmly, from my hands.

Much to my surprise, he pulled away from me and walked right up to the man and the now-sitting dog.  He looked the man directly in the eyes.   "We don't HIT!" he said, his whole little body shaking with rage at the injustice of it, and possibly with fear at the thought of confronting this strange man.  "Hitting is not TIND (kind).  We NEVER, EVER, EVER hit.  OTAY?"

His message delivered, he reached out and gently, so, so gently began petting the dog, as he had been told he could.

As soon as I was able to make a getaway, I scooped Cooper up, mumbling incoherently to the man "Thanks for letting him pet your dog we have to go stand over there now because I need to be as far away from you as possible." 

As we were walking away, Cooper looked back over my shoulder toward the dog owner and held up a finger to reiterate his point. "Member," he said.  "We NEVER, EVER hit, you got it?" 

After I got some time and distance between us and the hitting dog owner, and got over my own shock at the (imagined) horror of a confrontation with a stranger, I started to get some perspective on the whole incident.  It made me realize that my boy is brave and strong and has a good, good heart, and that I don't need to worry at all that he's slow to warm up to people.  I realized, too, that it makes me so proud that he's willing to stand up for what he believes to be right and true.

I know now that he will speak when it matters.

Even if his voice shakes when he does it.

Super Why not?

A few months ago, we finally got around to signing up for Nexflix.

Hey, 2007 called.  It wants it's tv watching options back.

Anyway, it opened up a whole new set of tv shows for the kids, which I took full advantage of.

As I was scrolling through, looking for a show to babysit engage Cooper for a little while, I came across SUPER WHY! We had never watched it before but it looked promising, so I turned it on.

Cooper was hooked IMMEDIATELY.

He watched the first episode, eyes raptly glued to the screen, no movement, no sound.  It was a magical place for a four year old wiggly boy to be.

When the episode ended, it took him a few minutes to shake it off, then he looked around, startled, and realizing what had happened, my mild mannered, easy-going little guy demanded, "ANOTHER. NOW!"

So I did what any great, self-respecting mama would do.  I turned on another.  Then another.  Then another.

And so the day went.  He sat, totally entranced by Wyatt and his adventures and only acknowledged my presence when he needed something - "SNACK!" he would yell.  "DRINK!" he would shout.

This behavior was so out of character for my normally lovey-dovey, chatty, snuggly kid that I just gave in to it, mainly out of fear curiosity about where it would lead.

He was totally, thoroughly, completely consumed by this show.  I have no idea where he gets those tendencies.  No idea at all.

At some point during the day, I felt sort of bad that he had been sitting, staring at the tv for so long, so I tried to lure him away from it.  "Hey, Cooper," I said cajolingly.  "Wanna go outside?"  This is guaranteed 99.9% of the time to get a positive response.

"NO!" he growled.  "WATCH!"

Oh.  Okay then.

Finally, after episode ohdearIhavenoidea he drifted off to sleep, so I quickly turned the tv off. When he woke up, we went on with our day and it seemed like maybe he had forgotten it.

Until later, when he walked up to me and said seriously, "Mama, I love to spell.  S-P-E-L-L.  Can I watch my show now?"

Oh.  Well I guess you can then.  Any time kid.  Any time.



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Four

Dear Cooper,

Today you are four.

FOUR.

Four is big.  Grown up, almost.  Certainly not a baby, anyway.  Four means you can do stuff for yourself, without me.  Four means, that as a full time caregiver, I am nearly obsolete.

At four, I'd say your personality and your disposition are pretty well formed.

Sometimes when I look at you, I think you got all the best bits and pieces of your daddy and me, and none of the unpleasantness.

From me you got your wacky sense of humor, your innate sense of right and wrong, and your killer dimple.  From your daddy you got your instinctive abilities with all things electronic, your long, lanky frame and your gorgeous chocolate eyes.

You are an old soul with an understanding of life and people that goes far beyond what you should know and feel at four years old.  It astounds me.

You notice everything.  Everything.  It teaches and humbles me every day to stop what I'm doing, my mad dash of MOVEMENT, to see just a fraction of the things you can see and point out to me.

Sometimes you are content to just BE for minutes or hours, without entertainment of any sort, except for whatever's going on in your own mind.  There are so many lessons there I hardly know where to start, and I am certain that you didn't learn that sense of peace and calm from anyone you know.  It's just part of who you are.  And it's amazing.

You are funny.  You love to make people laugh, and sometimes you don't understand why everyone isn't as funny or as quick to laugh as you are.  Me neither, kid.  Me neither.

You love me and your daddy so very, very much, and your hugs every morning are the best part of my day.  A hug with no strings attached, no expectations, nothing but pure love and joy is a rare and precious gift, and you give it to me every day, without expecting anything in return.  But for as much as you love us, you love your big brother a little bit more.  And that's ok.  He feels the same way about you, too.

Some days you tell me that when you grow up, you will be a firefighter, so you can save all the kitties that are stuck in trees.  Some days you tell me you want to be an airplane pilot, or an astronaut, so you can fly high into the sky.  Sometimes you want to be a superhero, or a cowboy, or a doctor who takes care of sick animals.  It will be an amazing journey to see where you end up.

Right now your world is pretty small, but over the next few years it will begin to grow and expand,  and you will start to find your place in it.

Oh, and what a place it will be!  Thank you for letting me watch it, and be a part of it.

Love,

Mama

A double life.

The first signs were so subtle, I did not recognize them for what they were.

A cabinet door left open in the morning when I was quite sure I closed it the night before.

A candy wrapper in a place where no candy wrapper should be.

A half colored picture that I don't remember anything about.

A stray comment about watching a movie that I know we hadn't watched yet.

A cranky preschooler who fell asleep at odd times and in odd places.

But then, it all started to slowly come together.

My first real inking that something weird was going on was coming downstairs one morning to find a step stool pulled into the library and up to the art supply storage.

"Um, did you climb up and get into the glitter glue last night?" I asked R.

 "Um, did you climb up and get into the glitter glue last night?" I asked Zachary.

"Um, did you climb up and get into the glitter glue last night?" I asked Cooper.

No one would own up to it.

Finally, I eliminated R as a suspect, based solely on the fact that he can reach the glitter glue without a stool.

A few mornings later, I came downstairs into the kitchen to an open cabinet, some empty candy wrappers and a few crumbs.

"Um, did you come downstairs last night and eat a bunch of candy and make a mess in the kitchen?"  I asked R.

"Um, did you come downstairs last night and eat a bunch of candy and make a mess in the kitchen?"  I asked Zachary.

"Um, did you come downstairs last night and eat a bunch of candy and make a mess in the kitchen?"  I asked Cooper.

Again, I got a chorus of "No!" and "Of course not!" as as response.

I finally knew for sure who the culprit was when we sat down for family movie night one Sunday evening, just like we do every week.  R put Toy Story 3on, which we had downloaded a few weeks earlier but had never seen.  A few minutes into the movie, Cooper began to "predict" what would happen next. "Now Andy is going to put all the toys in a bag."  "Next Buzz and Woody get REALLY MAD at each other."  "In a minute, a bird comes and eats Mr. Potato Head.  It's SO FUNNY!"  and on and on and on.

Since I KNEW we hadn't watched this particular movie before, and since I was pretty sure Cooper isn't psychic (pretty sure, not totally sure) I asked him, "Cooper, when did you watch this movie?"

He thought about it for a minute, then he answered, "Oh, I like to watch it on the iPad sometimes after you and Daddy are in bed at night."

"Oh, and do you ever do anything else after Daddy and I go to sleep at night?"  I may not be quick to catch on to everything, but occasionally even I can get the picture.

"Well, sometimes I like to color," he said.  Then, looking down at his feet, because - and I'm assuming here - he knows he's not supposed to be eating candy a) in his room b) after his teeth are brushed and c) without permission, he said "And sometimes I get a piece of candy to eat when I watch the movie.  I like to have a little snack when I'm watching Buzz Lightyear."

Well sure.  Who doesn't?

At that point, R and I both talked to him about the importance of getting a good night's sleep, about not leaving his room at night unless it was an emergency (or he had to pee, which, by the way, is totally an emergency), and about not eating candy/coloring/watching movies/whatever after he was supposed to be asleep.

He seemed to get it.  I think.  He agreed to it, anyway.

But I did go later that night and hide all the good candy.

Just in case.




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