Madeline Turns 7

Last weekend, on the hottest day of the year, in the midst of a "paint your own pottery" party my oldest daughter turned 7. Two days later, she started 2nd grade. I'm not sure how this all transpired- the past 7 years, I mean. Nonetheless, my darling, dainty little angel is now an "edgy" 7-year old who no longer claims pink OR purple as her favorite colors. She prefers blue. She now wants to play the guitar and refuses to carry her old book bag because it has "princess" written on it. The past year in her life has been full of bumps and bruises. *Growing pains, if you will.

I have a type-A child. I know that she inherits much of this from her father who used his right-brained-ness to get to where he is today without killing any patients under anesthesia. I know that he has mild OCD when I see him obsess over the best way to smoke a chicken in the Weber or stain a deck. These types of projects apparently require hours of research. What surprises me is how much my daughter is like me. I'm the type-A one. I was just in disguise for a long time. When I see my (now) 7-year old worry about thunderstorms and possible job loss and attempt to control everything in her environment, it is like looking in a mirror. She is her mother's child. That being said, It has gotten to a point in parenting my children where I am no longer directing and redirecting. I am no longer providing just behavior management, stimulation, nourishment and love. I must now provide counsel to my daughter as she navigates the murky waters of school, friendships and the future. I have opened a dialogue with my 7-year old about things that were never discussed with me as a child. Maybe because it was the 80's and parenting was different, maybe because my mom worked 14 hours a day and had little energy for such things, maybe because I was a therapist in a past life (like 4 years ago). Regardless of the reasoning, it has come to my attention that Madeline will need my counsel. Maybe because she is type-A and has a tendency to worry. Maybe because I expect so much of her. Maybe because I am making up for the counsel that I was due. It makes no difference. I look forward to the conversations. I love to talk. Here are some topics we have an open dialogue about at this time:

1. What jobs pay a decent and real living wage. (seriously?)
2. Menstrual cycles. (Yep.)
3. How to stand up for yourself in the face of bullying. (*see above note about growing pains)
4. How babies get into a woman's body. (THE TRUTH)
5. Responsibility and organization. (organization is not a natural instinct for either parent)
6. Christianity and other religions. (Yikes!)

Geez...what will we be discussing when she's 13? Most importantly, Happy Birthday Madeline! I could not be any more proud of you. You are truly beautiful, intelligent and kind. I'm not sure what I did to make you choose me as your mommy, but I am so glad you did.

Eamon- Menace To West Lafayette

Tonight, I will write about Eamon. For the past two years, he has been the apple of my eye. His blonde curls, dimples and fat cheeks have a way of charming me that my girls have not yet mastered. By the time that I arrived home from the hospital with Eamon, I realized that he was a dream baby. He has been the easiest of our children BY FAR. With Eamon, everything has been black and white. No surprises, no guessing, no shades of gray. Maybe it was the fact that he was our third child. Maybe we just had experience and relaxation on our sides. Having Eamon has truly been a pleasure and a delight.

Until now. This little boy is a menace. He is into everything. He climbs everything. He attracts dirt and grime like sailors to a port on leave. I am so thankful that he is not twins. Recently, I have seen some things happen in my home that I did not think possible. My darling son, who pushes a chair around the house looking for the next climbable object has used his chair to climb onto the stovetop to push the microwave buttons. He has used his trusty chair to begin his ascent to the top of my pantry; using the shelves as though they were rungs on a ladder. He has accessed my countertops and had a knife, straight from the butcher block in his hand. Like Houdini, he is able to perform feats that are not feasible for normal people. In a matter of seconds he was able to grab a squeeze bottle of green food coloring from the counter and turn himself into a green-spotted monster and my floor into a disaster-complete with green grout between the tiles. He often performs these tricks right before the eyes of myself and his father. I swear to you that we supervise our children. He is a one-man wrecking crew. All of the boxes in my pantry look disastrous. They are all raggedy and torn open in some wretched way by this nearly two-year old menace to West Lafayette.

I now have the 4 bar stools I bought for my very tall kitchen counter in my basement. This is because Eamon used his trusted friend, the table chair to climb onto the bar stool and then onto the "tall counter" (approximately 40 inches) so that he could exclaim "ta-da!" This little Houdini, although he can barely talk using recognizable language, can create and execute a plan better than some adults. He is sneaky. I have more than once found him on the front porch....alone. My neighbor saw him walk down our front stairs (only 3) and into the grass in the front yard and promptly returned him to my care. We now need locks at the top of each and every door to the outside as well as the pantry. During the day, I lock all the doors upstairs. Previous to this standard procedure, I found him in my bathroom, as happy as humanly possible in a sea of (unused) tampons and Q-tips. The joy on his face was unmistakable. He had found his own personal heaven. I'm sure there is no rush quite like getting toiletries out of drawers and off of high shelves and having the freedom (because mom is cleaning up a previously created mess in another room) to throw them and bask in the rain of that unnecessary mess (that your mom will clean up 90% of). Yes folks, Eamon is most definitely terrible 2. He is his own little man with a plan. Mama's baby is growing up.

Still, those moments are still there. When he comes out of the bath and snuggles close to me; warm and cozy in my arms. When I read to him and he sips from his Elmo cup and lays in my arms. When he pats my back or bats his huge eyelashes at me. When he hugs me and rests his head on my shoulder. When he puckers up for a kiss. Of course, now I have to make sure that none of these moments are just a trick so that he can bite me or steal my wallet.