A Letter to My Boys

Gavin,
You, my tallish, lanky boy, are growing by the day it seems. The pants I bought you in early fall are now high-waters, and your feet are almost growing through the ends of your shoes. I'm afraid all the clothes I wanted to repurpose that were slightly too big last summer are now going to be too small by the time summer rolls around this year.

You're also getting smarter all the time and routinely come home telling me facts beyond your years. They're always posed as questions, like: "Momma, did you know Georges Seurat painted dots?" or "Did you know Orca whales have a nickname? Killer whales!" I'm loving that you're getting swept up in learning, and frankly, I'm learning some new things along with you. I'm guessing this is just the beginning of that. You're so, so good at math and puzzles and have already mastered some basic addition and how to put together the 5-12 age Lego kits by yourself.

Lately, you've been sporting a new, longer hairstyle and seem to really like it. It makes you look so grown-up, but it's already driving me nuts when it's in your eyes. Since you've got the straight-as-a-board hair that I had growing up, there are some gel tricks we're having to use to keep it out of your eyes as it grows. You love it though, and so do I, so I see it sticking around for a while.

You've been taking taekwondo classes for three-ish months now, and love it. You're actually getting pretty good at it and can even count to seven in Korean! You had a belt test a couple weeks ago and though you struggled with some anxieties about the multitude of people there to watch the test, you overcame your fear because you were determined to get that belt. You even got to break a board at the end of the test and have been showing it off ever since.

Speaking of anxieties, you've started fearing anything new lately, sometimes even in situations that you're familiar with. You've gotten clingier at daycare drop-off and have had this crippling fear come over you the last few times we've been to taekwondo, but you can't really articulate why, other than to say you're "scared," or "there are new kids." It's gotten bad enough that you can't even complete the class, but we're working hard to help you through it. Part of me wishes it was just that you didn't like taekwondo anymore, because watching you be so excited about going, and then be so overcome with fear that you can't participate—that's hard. Really hard. It breaks my heart, but we're trying hard to help you get through it and grow from it.

Lately, you've been more of a Momma's boy than ever, and I am loving every second. Since you were a baby, you've always preferred Daddy, and to be honest, it's broken my heart a tiny bit. But friends who told me that would change have been proven right because the tide seems to be shifting in my favor. The other night you actually said it, verbatim: "Momma, Bennett is a Daddy's boy and I'm a Momma's boy." So...there you have it. [Squeals with delight!]

Well, my big kid, that can't possibly sum up your last few months, but it's definitely the biggest happenings. I'm so very proud of you!

I love you more,
Momma



Bennett,
You are my continuously ornery, sweet, spunky little dude and you remind me daily how much you are like me. Every time I see your stubborn face, or hear you shout "No!" I have to remind myself that I was probably juuuust like you as a toddler.

You're continuing to impress with your physical abilities, which now include jumping all the way off the ground, climbing the outside of the stairs, and getting to places only your brother could reach a short month ago.

You're also talking more and more, and your vocabulary is starting to explode because you repeat everything you hear. "Yellow" is our current favorite because you ignore the "Ls" altogether and just saw, "Yeh-yo." You also point to objects and repeat the words over and over again until we say, yes, buddy, that is Daddy's robe (Dadee wobe), or a yellow bus (yeh-yo bushh), or whatever else it is you're pointing at. The way you say your name is also equally adorable because you say it so quickly that you somehow morph it into just one syllable. I'm trying to get it on video because I know it won't be long before that changes, too.

For Christmas, you got some new bath toys that are just foam letters and numbers that stick to the wall, and they've quickly become a favorite in the shower with Daddy. You've been playing with them so much that you even recognize certain letters as belonging to one of our names. "Bubba!" you'll say, and point to the letter "G" (you never call him Gavin, though you recognize it as his name), or "Momma!" when you point to the letter "M." It's impressive for a not-quite-two-year-old!

I feel compelled (again) to write about your obsessive love for bananas. It's gotten so bad we have to hide them from you now. If you could, you'd eat three or four in a single sitting and then not be able to poop for days. I really don't think you'd even care. Every time we do allow a banana, or something banana-flavored, like yogurt, you jump up and down and shriek "Nana!" excitedly like you're part monkey or something.

You're growing and changing so much lately that I can't wait to see what the next few months bring for you, little man.

I love you more,
Momma

Winter Gavinisms

After picking up a toy to play:

Bennett: "MINE!"

Gavin: "I'll give it back cuz I'm your best brother."

In the car:

Gavin: "Momma, can I have something to play with? I'm boring."

Another day in the car after daycare:

Me: "What did you do in Miss Stephanie's class today?"

Gavin: "Read my mind, Momma."

Finding an unexpected ladybug in the house:

Gavin: "Look, Momma! A July bug!"

Listening to Bennett mumbling in the car:

Gavin: "Was that a whole story or a half story? I'm confused."

Dealing with Bennett's habit of taking off his socks and shoes in the car:

Gavin, to me: "Momma...Bennett's licking his toes."

Gavin, to Bennett: "I'm never gonna do what you do."

And a first Bennettism:

Gavin: "Oh, brother!"

Bennett: "Oh, bubba!"

[giggles from all involved]

Starting the New Year Right: Simplify

I loathe new year's resolutions. They always make me feel like a failure. You start out the year with this lofty goal in mind and then two months, two weeks...sometimes two days later, you've failed. Already. It's too much pressure.

I do like the thought of adopting something new though, or trying to continue the good stuff I've already been doing. Having a goal is like shaking off last year's negativity and donning the new year with confidence and purpose.

Last year, for many reasons, I felt stretched too thin. I was in this constant tug-of-war with things I wanted to do vs. things I needed to do. I was overcommitted and under-acheiving, which in turn, made me feel like a failure. I guess it's not just resolutions that can make you feel that way.

So my not-so-lofty, actually achievable, non-resolution goal for 2014 is to simplify. I'm not sure exactly what that looks like, and it may morph over time, but I know it's going to be full of shedding what's weighed me down and making room for more of the good stuff. And that sounds like a great start to a new year.

September Gavinisms

Passing by someone walking on the street:
Gavin: "Who is that, Momma?"
Me: "Our neighbor up the street."
Gavin: "I don't know his name so I'm just gonna call him dude."

After church one Sunday:
Gavin: "It's a good day for a donut."

In the car on the way to daycare:
Gavin: "Momma, can you sing me a song?"
Me: "Sure...what song do you want me to sing?"
Gavin: "That one you sang when I was a baby."
Me: [sings song]..."do you remember that song?"
Gavin: "I don't remember the words, but I'm singing it in my heart right now."

Referring to our worship center, which is darker than the sanctuary at church:
Gavin: "When I grow up, I'm gonna play drums in the dark church."

Bennett at 18 Months

This child.

Oh, how I love him.

He still looks so much like his brother, but is absolutely his own person in every single other way possible.

He's speaking a little, but probably only 15-20 words or so. He still signs most everything, though he's picking up more language every day. He mimics our intonation perfectly when trying to repeat back new words, but can't quite make out the actual sounds for everything yet. He understands hundreds of words though, and often answers our questions with a sign, or a head shake for "no" or "yes," but mostly "no" because he's a toddler.

The way he says "outside" (ow-sigh) makes me want to grant every request he makes to go play "ow-sigh" because it's just too damn cute. I'd forgotten how much I loved toddler language and the way their pronunciation melts you into a puddle.

He's also daring--trying to impale, strangle, or maim himself at every possible opportunity. If there's something to climb on, he's scaled it before I can blink. I feel a strong urge to keep him covered in bubble wrap at all times.

He's a feisty one, and a little bit of a biter. If you ignore his demands or dare take a toy he wants, he'll come after you, mouth open, ready to defend his territory with that mouthful of chompers he's got. We're working on time-outs, etc. to curb his angry outbursts, but we've already had to sign a couple incident reports at daycare because he "bit a friend." Dude. Friends don't bite. Not the good ones anyway. We're keeping our fingers crossed that this little phase passes soon.

He's also such a cuddler, and I'm soaking up every single second of it before he outgrows this huggy/kissy phase. When he first wakes, he requires a snuggle. You'd might as well just drop everything else and give in because there's no better way to start the day. He melts his little body into yours and sighs, lavishing in a warm cuddle for a few moments before he's off and moving.

He loves his big brother fiercely, and wants to do everything Gavin does. His latest mimic is trying to jump, which mostly is just him rising up on his tip-toes and then back down again.

At eighteen months (already?!) he's this perfect little combo of spunk and sweetness, and I couldn't imagine our lives without him.

  

Big Fat Fail

For most of Gavin's life, we've lived as if peanuts were poison. For him, they always have been. The first time he ate peanuts, this happened:

He'd just turned one, and we were trying out some peanut butter for the first time. Unfortunately, this didn't happen until 16 hours after he'd eaten a tablespoon of peanut butter, so when we took him to urgent care, the doctor said it couldn't possibly be a peanut allergy. (Note: Hindsight taught us that we know our child better than any doctor. Grrr.)

Several months later after an overnight at my parent's house, he had peanut butter on a waffle for breakfast, and when I went to pick him up after church, my mom said he'd been complaining about his ears itching. As soon as I'd heard he'd had peanut butter again, I knew immediately that he was having a reaction. I rushed him to Children's Mercy, and by the time we got there, the left side of his face was so swollen that he couldn't open his eye. Scariest car ride of my life, by the way. Every time I looked back at him, he looked worse, and I was terrified I wasn't going to make it to the hospital before his throat closed up.

The nurse practically jumped over the desk to listen to his breathing when she saw him, and took us straight back into a room where doctors pumped him full of antihistamines and stopped the reaction, thank God.

From that point on, we've been a label-checking, epi-pen-carrying, online-researching, peanut-free household, and I've lived with a quiet, constant worry about Gavin being accidentally exposed to peanuts again. He's a child, after all, and we can't expect him, and everyone he comes in contact with to have the same heightened sensitivity as we do. I certainly didn't know what to look for on a food label or which restaurants fry their food in peanut oil before he became allergic. It's something we've had to grow into as a family, and something we've had to ingrain in him. He's gotten so good at asking, "Does that have peanuts in it?" when someone offers him food, and I'm incredibly proud of him for it, but still...that constant, nagging worry persisted.

So this year, when blood tests came back that the antibodies in his blood had decreased steadily every year, and his allergist suggested doing a peanut butter challenge in the office, I was equal parts nervousness and excitement. The day came and he was a champ. The nurse fed him gradually increasing amounts of peanut butter while we watched movies and played on the iPad. Little by little he ate it and nothing happened, and little by little, I got my hopes up that maybe, just maybe he'd have a different life...one where he didn't have to worry about measly little peanut proteins.

But then I saw a little red splotch right below his lip and noticed him scratching his bottom lip with his teeth, and those hopes crumbled. He told the nurse his lips and tongue were "itchy" and the test was stopped immediately. His reaction was mild enough this time that he only had to take an oral dose of antihistamine to stop it, which was a relief, but I don't think it was until that moment that I realized how badly I just wanted it to be over. His peanut allergy. The constant worry. All of it. Though he remained oblivious, I was heartbroken. For him. For me. For the easier future I'd started to imagine for all of us.

So now we go back to the world we've known with our hopes a little shaken, but not abandoned. He still has a chance to grow out of this, and that is our constant prayer. That, and the grateful prayer of thanks we give for a generally happy, healthy, smart, strong, and incredibly awesome kiddo.

A Love Letter From a Proud Pre-K Momma

Gavin,
You went to bed a big Pre-K kid last night, and your Daddy and I cried huge tears of pride for the little person you're becoming. You see...we already know your good heart, your kind nature, and your genuine concern for others. We get to see it all the time, but occasionally, we get to hear how that part of you shines even when we're not watching.

Yesterday morning, we walked into your new class and a little girl was sitting at a table quietly crying, with one of your teachers trying to soothe her fears. It was her first day, and she knew no one, unlike you, who galloped into the room and immediately saw several faces you knew and loved. I asked her name and called you over to introduce the two of you. I was this close to saying, "Why don't you help her feel better?" but you were off to the next thing after saying "hi" and I was in a hurry to get to work.

When I came to pick you up last night, you came running as usual, and I noticed the smile you gave to the same little girl, who was still obviously nervous and cautious about this whole Pre-K thing, clinging to the teacher until her parents picked her up. Your teacher piped up then, and said, "Gavin was a good friend today," and then proceeded to tell me how you'd patted the little girl's back when she cried and tried to make her feel more at home in her new classroom.

My cup overflowed in that moment, buddy...Because you were kind. Because I didn't have to tell you to be kind. Because you looked outside yourself to help someone you didn't even know. Because you weren't selfish. For so many reasons, my heart blew wide open with pride for you.

I'm so honored to be your Momma every day, buddy, but yesterday, you reminded me of one of the many reasons why.

I love you more,
Momma