Finally Five

Dear Addie,
You've been five for almost a week and I am just now finding a few moments to sit down and digest that fact. Five years old seems, to me, monumental. It is a milestone birthday in my mind. You officially are no longer a baby and both your feet are planted firmly in the world of a big girl.
This past year has been a pretty huge one for you and for us. In the year leading up to your fifth birthday a lot happened - our family grew and you became an amazing big sister, you finished your last year of preschool, and, I swear, you grew two feet taller.

When you first met Brenna, the tiny person who bestowed you with the title of big sister, you did so with excitement, a bit of trepidation, and a ton of sweetness.

You have embraced your role of big sister with an amazing amount of grace, tenderness and enthusiasm. Brenna giggles and giggles for you, she is constantly looking for you and listening for your voice. Your version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is by and far her favorite. Occasionally you struggled sharing the spotlight, or my lap, but generally you've shown us what an amazingly kind and thoughtful little girl you've become - you love to soothe your sister, make her laugh and play with her on the floor.

This was your last year at preschool - how is that possible? You went to school three days a week, were part of the Frogs class and loved every second of school. On the days that you didn't have school you asked when you would be going back and you diligently did your "homework". You formed wonderful friendships at school and learned so much. At dinner you often told Dad and I about all the things you learned: fire safety, presidents, hibernation. We were also treated to dozens of new songs, that were sung frequently and loudly, often with your own spins to them. You loved learning, adored your teacher, Miss Cathy, and constantly had stories to share about your friends. On your graduation day you were so proud of yourself - and so were we.

It seemed like this year you endlessly grew - you got taller, smarter, older. Your vocabulary is astounding and you use words that are well beyond your years. You continue to love to be read to and try to read by yourself all the time. Right before you turned five you insisted that we start reading chapter books at night, the first two you chose were The Wizard of Oz and Charlie and the Charlie Factory. While your vocabulary is amazing, you remind us that you are still growing by often confusing words and misspeaking - saying you did an "octopus course" instead of an obstacle course or that you had your "pace fainted" instead of face painted. There are occasional sounds that you still struggle with, mostly the -th sound, which also reminds us that you are not as old as you pretend to be. And no matter how many times you are corrected, the -eds are a part of the way you talk: knowed, sawed, goed. I don't work that hard to correct your misspeaks, as I find them adorable and know that they are fleeting.
In the year that you turned five you tried all sorts of new things - you took dance all year long and gave us a performance of a lifetime in April. You loved everything about dance : the music, the movement, your teacher, new friends, ballet slippers, and most of all, tutus. But while dance highlighted your girly, fancy side, t-ball brought out your inner athlete. You played on a team of all boys and quickly embraced the mantra There is no crying in baseball. You were just as tough as any of the boys on your team and by the end of the season your throwing, hitting and catching improved significantly. You also fell in love with bowling and proved to us that bowing and skirts go hand in hand.

This year you seemed to endlessly grow - taller, smarter, bigger.  You developed distinct opinions about everything from books you liked, to food you disliked.  I often joke that silence is not something I ever experience.  You constantly sang silly songs, insisted on playing games, told stories.  Your inquisitive side came out in full force:  Where does wind come from?  How do cats meow? When will I loose a tooth? Why do I dream?  What's in a marshmallow?  Every day was full, FULL, of questions, to many of which I had no good answers.  You became a bit more stubborn and showed us your temper more frequently than we would have liked.  You stomped your feet, screamed and pouted a bit more than necessary, but you still were generous with snuggles and hugs.

There is nothing about you that is a baby anymore.  Your legs are long and lanky, your knees are verging on knobby.  The chub that I could see in your cheeks just last year has melted away.  You insist on long hair, painted toes and twirly dresses. 
You have grown so much, so big, so fast that I am left a bit breathless when I see you, my itty-bitty baby, swinging high into the air, running around the yard with reckless abandon, swimming underwater, curled up on the couch with a book.You love your family and friends and continue to tell most of your secrets to the cat. 
 
You amaze me, frustrate me, make me laugh.  I am so proud to be your mom and cannot believe that in just a few short weeks you will be climbing on to the school bus to head off to kindergarten.  While I often beg you to stop growing, I know you won't and I cannot wait to see the adventures you continue to bring us on.


I love you, sweet girl.

A bit belated

Thank you for always saying yes to last minute emergency baby sitting, and over night baby sitting, and babysitting for nights out on the town.

Thank you for always being willing to go out to dinner and, more often than not, for picking up the tab.

Thank you for having extra chairs, tables, serving platters, tin foil, saran wrap, Kohls coupons and tools.

Thank you for the recipes to beer cheese, jalapeno dip, hanky panks and tortilla rolls.

Thank you for sharing my love of ice cream, strawberry sour cream cake and white wine spritzers.

Thank you for raising a wonderful, thoughtful, kind, hard working, funny son (actually you probably raised two of those, but I am most thankful for your first born one).

Thank you spoiling my daughters with your attention and your love (and some pretty great toys and cute outfits).

Thanks for always treating me as one of your own daughters with your support, advice, and friendship.

And, thanks, for forgiving me (us) when I (we) remembered your birthday...two days late.  Happy birthday, Patty.

21

I am cannot believe how grown up you are!  Just yesterday it seemed that you were a little blond haired girl - one of the centers of my boyfriend's life. 
He would talk about you, and his face would soften and I could tell he adored you.  The first time we met you were barely older than Addie - You've heard this story a thousand times, but I will tell it again. 

Andy and I drove in late from Chicago - when arrived in Cincinnati everyone was already in bed, but taped to the banister was an envelope with my name on it.  It was adorned with stickers and my name was written in little girl printing, inside I found six pennies and an orange yarn anklet.  How did you know that orange was my favorite color?  I remember watching you play soccer - and running the wrong way down the field after picking a few dandelions.

You came to Chicago all on your own when you were still just a little kid - I cannot believe your mother let you on that plane!  Andy took you to the aquarium where you suckered him into buying you some ridiculously expensive stuffed sea creature.  You also went to the Field Museum to see Sue the T Rex, with the article you cut out of the newspaper at home in your pocket.  We took you to see High Fidelity on the lawn at Loyola - in retrospect I think you were a tad young for that outing!

Right after that trip Chicago I started joining your family at the beach - where I watched you fearlessly face the waves in the ocean, shaming me into joining.  Even as a kid you knew how to vacation - your butt in the sand and a book in your hand.

When you were just 13 years old I officially joined your family - but you had already said that you'd "known me pretty much your whole life".  You were beautiful and brave on my wedding day - you got to wear a strapless dress and walk gracefully down the aisle.  You also bravely held my mirror for me as I melted into a bit of bridezilla.  Not only were you there when I married your brother, but you were there the days your nieces were born.  There are very few people who I could have little shame about losing control of my bladder with, but you are one of them! You are a natural with both girls - Brenna is still figuring you out, but Addie openly adores you.  Not so long ago she told me she wished she looked like you and she frequently asks me to do her hair like Aunt Nikki's, "a lot in a pony tail, but a little down".

When I moved here you were often my salvation - providing sweet treats, breaks from mothering and lunch dates.  We spent many afternoons together, when I would pick you up from school, slurping on milk shakes and scarfing down fried pickles.  I was honored to be able to join you for your fancy senior tea and a bit in shock that the little girl who gave me pennies was graduating high school. 
And now?  Now you are twentyfreakingone.

I told Addie that today was your birthday and that you are officially a grown up and her response was "No way!  Aunt Nikki is all growed up??". 

You sure are...we will miss you this summer, perhaps even more than during the school year, as summer is our time to play, but are excited to watch you tackle the next set of adventures.  Happy 21st Birthday, Nicole Elizabeth!  I think I will accessorize today with that beautiful anklet from so many years ago...

3.5 and 34

Today Addie is three and half.

Three and a half!

I have been told that today she will become wonderful again. My friends who have survived being the mothers of three-year-olds have assured me that at three and a half pixie dust falls from the sky and the hellion that I have been spending my days with returns to the sweet angel that used to smother me snuggles and kisses.

Kisses and snuggles are the opposite of what I am smothered with these days - glowers and huffs and pouty faces.

I am told No three thousand times a day. I am told I am mean. And old and "not very nice". I have been kicked and scratched and have had to subdued a temper tantrum daily.

Once in a while I get an extra tight hug. Daily I am told "I love you Mommy" - but that's usually after a stomping fit.

Last night I was told that dinner was yucky and that I am "not a good cook".

This morning I was I was repeatedly told that I am "not being nice" and need to stop being "so mean". She was unhappy about the bows I picked out for her hair. She was unhappy that I asked her to put on her shoes. She was unhappy that I didn't allow her to grab her English Muffin out of the very hot toaster. She was angry that I made her brush her teeth and that I wouldn't let her have a Twinkie for breakfast.

We were late getting out to our preschool car pool because she was too busy petting the cat instead of putting on her shoes.

And then I slammed her finger in the car door.

Awesome. I am a mean old Mom.

So ten hours into three and half things aren't looking so good - but I have to be hopeful, right?

As for the 34?

Today is my fabulous husband's 34th birthday. He does not stomp his feet or pout or glower or huff at me (99 percent of the time). He has never called me mean or old (because, let's be honest, he's significantly older than me) or told me that my dinner is yucky. He has not scratched me in the face and he still likes to hug and kiss me.

He occasionally forgets to act his age and is often quite silly, but he is always kind. He is always loving and he is always supportive. He puts up with my ramblings and my frustration and my ridiculousness.

My 34 year old husband is an amazing father to my three and half year old daughter. He is firm and gentle and consistent. He attacks her with tickles and kisses her boo-boos and reminds her to use her fork. He is patient and insightful. He fills our home with warmth and laughter and good cooking.

Most importantly? That 34 year-old husband of mine reminds me that "this too shall pass" when dealing with my moody three-and-a-half-year-old.

Happy Birthday to you, husband. I don't know what I would do with out you.

And Happy Half Birthday to you, daughter. I can't wait for that pixie dust to fall from the sky.

And then she was 3

On Saturday my house was full of princesses.

The princess cake. The new princess chair, umbrella and doll set. There were no less than four tutus. There was one pair of fairy wings. There were dresses and skirts and frilliness. There were games and hugs and squeals.

It was her third birthday party. And she felt oh-so big and oh-so grown and all I could think was "My heavens, how has it been three years?".

How is it possible that three years ago I was holding my belly, gladly accepting an epidural and holding Andy's hand, waiting it for IT ALL to happen. Out she came and she was squishy and cute (the kind of post-birth cute that only a parent can see). She stretched and squirmed and showed us the capacity of her lungs.

She was perfect.
Or so I thought.

And then I watched her grow.
And I learned how to be a parent and continued to be in awe of her worldly girliness.
Her perfection is endless....

She has shown me how to be silly. And blindly trusting. She has taught me how to harness more patience than I even knew the universe had. She prances. And twirls and runs too fast. She is all sass and already knows way more than I do, or so she tells me.

Her imagination is endless. Sometimes she's the princess and I'm the queen. Once in awhile she's Cinderella and I'm the not-nice StepMother. Occasionally she's the fairy godmother and I am turned into a horse. Sometimes I am the one-eyed-monster and she is the witch. Or she is a kittycat and I am turtle.
She loves to chat on the phone - with Gramma Kathy, with Daddy, with her imaginary friends' parents and with Ry.
She has opinions on how things are done. How to fold the laundry, load the dishwasher, spread peanut butter on her bagel. She knows red, green and yellow and is the world's most vocal backstreet driver.

She can go to the potty and wash her hands all by herself. She still likes to take a bath, but thinks that showers are super grown up. She loves to set the table and help Daddy at the grill. She knows how to pick up, but doesn't always choose to.

She adores her family. She loves to talk to them and about them. She loves those who are in her backyard and those that are miles away.
She worships her Daddy - fiercely. She respects him and adores him and tests his limits. They are each others' best stinkopotomuses. And they make my cup runneth over.

She has friends. Friends who watch out for her, who care for her and who make her world better. Many of her friends are boys : Max, Jake, Joshie, Nicholas, Harrison, Evan. But she thinks girls are awesome too: Elise, Maggie, Marissa, Maddie (there's a few Maddies), Baby Sam.
She shares (for the most part) and loves to have play dates.

She loves to sing, loudly, off tune.
She likes to pretend and dance and play hide.
She begs to be pushed higher in the swing and loves to help in the garden.
She makes sure the cat is fed and the birdies have food.
She loves to dance and twirl and leap.
She likes peanut butter, strawberries, mushrooms, asparagus and all things princess.
She begs for ice cream and milkshakes and sweet treats.
She makes sure to look both ways before crossing the street.

She is brave and adventurous, but once in awhile hides behind my knees.
She still silently reaches for my hand a thousand times a day.
In the morning kisses and cuddles are always on the agenda.
After a nap her favorite place is still my lap.

She is three.
And she won't promise to stop growing, but she does promise to always be my baby.

Happy third birthday little bean....Wow.

30-Boo-Hoo

I don't know what it is about 32, but it put me in a funk. I was short with my daughter, snippy toward my husband and avoiding everyone else. I haven't been blogging, because (I'll admit it) I have had nothing nice to say. I have been humorless and grouchy.

Thirty-two and pouty, that's me.

On my actual birthday I essentially instituted a phone strike. I didn't want to hear happy wishes or jokes about getting old. I didn't want to be gracious or chatty. I spent the morning at the vet with my cranky cat and her urinary tract infection. Woo hoo. I was practically on the verge of tears all day. POUT.

This is so unlike me that it's ridiculous. I LOVE birthdays. I love mine, yours, hers and his. LOVE them. I think a day that is all about "you" is awesome and important and well-deserved. Growing up, my mom made birthdays magical. We got awesome cakes (seriously, one year she made my brother a Darth Vadar cake, complete with black frosting), and parties and spoiled with presents. Put it this way: on at least one occasion my birthday party included having pony rides in the backyard.
I know, seriously?? Yep.

I wasn't feeling it this year. I don't think a pony would have even cheered me up. Boo Hoo, 32.

And then I went to lunch with an old friend. At one point in time I was her guardian and mentor. But over the past eight years we've evolved into friends or family, or a mix of the two.

When I was fresh out of school I volunteered with AmeriCorps at Girls Hope. There I became a parent-figure, guardian, mentor, rule enforcer and chauffeur to eight tween and teen girls. We lived, with three other staff, in a house just north of Chicago. At 21 years old I was attending parent-teacher conferences, driving a Suburban, making dinners and breakfasts for an entire house. I was checking chores and explaining how tampons worked. There were days when I wanted to run away from the program screaming, but I didn't, I stayed for two years. My life was entwined with the lives, the drama, the goals, the hardship of the girls.

When I did leave my heart broke. I was leaving behind my kids, my girls. What would they do with out me there to make sure their homework was done or that they had new clothes? What would they do without me when their boyfriends broke up with them or they struggled in English? Turns out they would look to a new house parent to deal with the daily drama and slowly allow me to become a friend.

I didn't stay in touch the way I thought I would. Some of the girls are my 'friends' on Facebook. Some I hear about through the grapevine. Two of them, however, call me on my birthday, send me cards at Christmas, invited me to their college graduation and on occasion refer to Addie as their little sister.

One of those lovely "girls " (they're 24 now, but still in my mind they're my "girls") happened to be in town for my birthday. We met up for lunch and hung out until she had to fly back to Chicago. We played Friends Trivia and laughed at Addie and talked about everyone else we had in common. We talked about her future job and school plans. I made fun of her for being such a city slicker, she accused me of becoming a country mama.

Without knowing that I was feeling grouchy and grinchy and pouty, she made me laugh, and that was one hell of a good birthday gift.

Dear Addie,

You know so much already, at two, that I worry about what you will figure out in the years to come. As I sit on the couch, listening to you, over the monitor, chat with Giraffe and Raggedy Ann, I can hardly believe that it was only two years ago that I lay in a hospital bed, trying to concentrate on Scrabble while waiting for you to arrive.

How have two years passed already?

You are hardly a shadow of that tiny person who turned our world upside down. You can walk and run now. Often, you choose to gallop. You can jump and spin now. Often, you try to combine the two to make me laugh. You can color with crayons and tell me what color crayon you are using. Purple and Orange are your favorites. You can draw circles and use watercolors. You take care of your baby dolls, you tuck in your stuffed animals, you make sure that our herbs get watered. You pick dandelions, clovers, and wild flowers. You make us laugh.

You have opinions of your own. You like to help pick out your clothes in the morning and you decide whether or not to wear pigtails. You decide whether you want to put on your purple shoes or your polka dot sneakers. You tell me if you want a bubble bath at night or a shower in the morning. We often watch cartoons in the early morning hours, when we are just starting to function, but sometimes you request the news. You tell me, point blank, if you like what I have picked out to wear for myself or if you don't want to go to the grocery store.

You carefully watch older kids and tentatively try to do what they do. Because of your daring and curious spirit you know how to jump, how to slide, how to twirl in a swing. You are not afraid of water being splashed on you, or poured over your head, and you charge the the sprinkler head on. You want to try new things, and you challenge yourself to be adventurous. You can climb to the top of your play set by yourself. You can go up and down stairs by your self. You love closing the doors to rooms, sometimes accidentally locking youself or the cat inside. You try to balance on retaining walls and curbs and you scramble up everything you can: benches, chairs, couches, beds. Usually once you have scrambled up, you throw yourself off with a reckless giggle.

Each day your vocabulary is expanding, and you often say things I didn't even know you knew. You love milk, juice and tea. You love sweet treats, ice cream, and fishies. You beg for lollipops and popsicles. You know not to touch mommy's coffee or mommy and daddy's "grown up juice". You can use a fork and spoon, but you still prefer your hands to shovel food into your mouth. You like asparagus and blueberries. You love meat: sausage, metts, brats, hotdogs, steak, chicken, ham...all of it is super yummy. Like your mommy, you think cheese is the world's greatest invention, and ask for it frequently. You know the names of your aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins and friends. Heck, you even know most of the names of mommy and daddy's friends. You definitely know Tool.

You find wonder in the smallest things. You love to toss bread to the birds in the backyard and watch them cool off in our bird bath. You still smile and point as planes fly overhead. You are fascinated by bees and bugs, but a little grossed out by worms. You love it when we pass the horses on our way to exercise and you loudly neigh at them. You think the fountain in the pond up street is amazing and you often whisper WOW as pass it. You still love the kitty with your whole heart. Sometimes you love her so much that she runs and hides - usually after you have given her a headlock hug, or dressed her up with necklace, or have attempted to use her as a pillow. You ask to go to the zoo about four times a week, and think the train is the greatest ride.

You love to sit on laps and read books. You have just started filling in words as we read. You like to sing, off tune and loudly. You love body slamming daddy, but not as much as you love cuddling him. You still let us hold your hand and want kisses on your boo-boos.

Today you fell asleep on my lap as I sang you Baby. I sat in the rocker a few minutes longer than I normally would. Instead of 8 pounds of baby, I held 30 pounds of toddler. Your hair is long enough for pigtails. Your legs are no longer full of rolls and your toes are painted pink.

That tiny person who turned my world upside down, is now a toddler who keeps it spinning, and interesting, and chaotic, and amusing and wonderful. You make my world uncertain, and exciting, and a fabulous place to be.

Happy second birthday to my baby...who is slowly becoming a big girl.

Happy Birthday Gramma! I love you and I hope your day is perfect!

32 & 18

GUESS WHO TURNED 32 TODAY?
No, sillies! Not me. I turned 18 months old...(my parents can't believe it either!).

But my Daddy-o has to blow out a lot of candles today. For his birthday Mom & I decided to share adorable old pictures of his grumpy face and his happy face.
GRUMPY?!

Uncle Brian, Daddy & Aunt Kimmie

HAPPY?!

I also arranged for freezing rain to cover Cincinnati so that he could work from home in his pjs. Finally, I asked Grandma and Aunt Nikki to babysit me so that Mommy & Daddy could go out for grown up dinner.

Aren't I the sweetest?

** Editor's Note: There was an awesome picture of a Neyer boy origninally posted in a bathing suit in North Carolina. Unfortunately, at this time our fact checking team can not confirm which grumpy Neyer boy that was a picture of. Damn similar looking Neyer boys.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRAMMA!!

Happy Birthday Gramma! I can't wait to see you in Chicago. Mommy and Daddy are packing my stroller so that we can walk along the river...maybe we can share a burger from Billy Goat Tavern?

I can't wait to show you where my piggy toes are and how big I am. I know I am super great at putting my thoughts down in the blog, but sometimes when we talk on the phone I can't tell you everything I want to. But I hope you can at least see how happy your phone calls make me...

I hope you have a fabulous, wonderful, joyous Birthday...I can't wait to see you in 4 days and give you presents and tons of kisses.

(Oh yeah, Mommy and Daddy say Happy Birthday too....and they can't wait to see you either!)