All this before we left the house today

Walter climbed into bed with us around 3:30 this morning. At around 8, he woke up with Umma and Baba's on his mind. "We need to go to Umma and Baba's house," were his first words to me upon waking, his little head nestled next to mine. When he saw that I was awake, too, he elaborated on his plan. We should make doot doot cake.  TWO doot doot cakes.  One for Walter to make, and one for Sally.  With white doots and brown doots. Enough for both of them to share.  I explained that we'd be going to visit Umma and Baba in two weeks, but he still spent most of the morning campaigning for going down there today.

Walter was mostly interested in playing this morning but when Sally woke up she made it clear that breakfast was the first order of business, so we settled in for some miniwheats. Sean made himself a taco with some smoked trout, and the kids wanted some, so he gave them some tortillas to eat, and some fish, too.  I watched Sally expertly wrap up her tortilla, burrito-style, and was delighted when she unwrapped it to see that she'd put her fish in there.  Sally is taco-proficient.

Walter and Sally were being sibling-y, and getting on each other's nerves a bit. Sally made a funny baby-dinosaur scream noise and then Walter did it too, prompting Sally to say, "Too loud, Walter." And Walter said, "But you did it first, Sally." And she explained, "Too LOUD, Walter," and he reiterated, "But you did it FIRST, Sally," and so on.  Sally dumped some of Walter's milk out of his bowl at one point, reaching in to see if he had any more miniwheats. When that got a reaction, she tried to do it again.  At one point, though, Walter ran out of fish and Sally gave him some of hers.

"Thank you, Salla Balla," he said, lovingly.
"Otay, Walla Walla," she shot right back, without missing a beat.

I think improvising terms of endearment must be some kind of major developmental milestone, right? Because ... so wonderful!

After breakfast Sean got himself and the kids dressed while I did some dishes so we could get out of the house and start our day. This was the plan. This is always the plan.  But it is really hard to do.  It's been made more difficult, lately, by the fact that Sally has decided I should not clean the kitchen after meals.

Cleaning the kitchen after meals is kind of my happy place, honestly. I should find ways to include the kids in the process, and I've tried to do that now and then, but really ... I just love having the kitchen to myself and a little time to get something accomplished on my own. I like pouring myself a big glass of selzer and drinking it while I work.  Sometimes I'll eat a little chocolate. I listen in on Sean and the kids playing in the living room and join them when I can ... but I enjoy that time by myself.

It's hard to say no to Sally, though, when she looks up at me and says, "C'mon, Mommy! Play! Living room! Toys, Mommy!" This morning she added, "Take my hand!" and gave me her hand, which of course I took.  She led me into the living room, to her purple chair from Santa, and commanded, "Sit down. Right here! Play, Mommy!  Toys! Read a book!"

We left the house around 10, which meant we didn't end up with much out-and-about time before we had to come home so I could eat and get ready for a wedding I officiated this afternoon. But I don't think I would have wanted to rush it any more than we did.  Some things can't be rushed: dreams about doot doot cake, miniwheats and trout tacos for breakfast, endearments and playing in the living room ... all good things.

Bedtime story

They were about to move on to bedtime book #2 when I interrupted.  "I have a story I need to tell," I announced. "Should it be now or later?"

Now, of course! Walter and Sean both watched me with interest, not sure what was coming.

"I was putting Sally to bed, and she was making sure she had all her friends in there.  Baby, Baby Carol, Moo.  Where was Elmo? He'd fallen out of her crib, between the crib and the wall.  I had to move the crib away from the wall some more and reach, reeeeeaaaach back behind it, and I did it! I got Elmo and showed him to Sally.  She was so happy!  I gave her the Elmo doll and she gave it a big, big hug.

"But then! Then she did something I didn't expect.  I asked her if she wanted to put Elmo down in her crib, and she looked at Elmo and she looked at me and she said, 'Walty!'

"I asked her, 'Do you want to take Elmo to Walter's room?' And she said yes and turned right around and went to your room!"

Walter looked surprised.  He didn't even remember to correct me for using the name "Walter." (These days he goes by "Michael," as in Michael Darling from Peter Pan.)

"I didn't even see her do that!" he said.

"This was earlier," Sean clarified. "While you were taking a bath."

I continued: "She came into your room, and when she saw that you weren't there, she headed for your bed. I asked her if she wanted to put Elmo on your bed for you.  Of course she didn't just want to put him on the bed, she wanted to climb onto your bed.  I helped her do that.  I asked her if she wanted to put Elmo on your pillow for you to find when you went to bed, and then she flipped over your top pillow and ..."

I knocked Walter's top pillow down the same way Sally had, revealing the Elmo doll she'd placed on his bottom pillow, giving Elmo a little pat before putting the top pillow back.

"Ohhhhh!" said Walter and Sean. both smiling, very pleased.  Walter went over and picked up the little Elmo doll. Sean told the story of how, on the night that Sally found the Elmo doll in Walter's room and claimed it for her own, Walter had discovered that he had a second doll, and was so pleased to know that they could both have Elmos he'd wanted to wake her up and tell her about it. Reminded of that story, Walter chimed in and said "I already had an Elmo in my room!"  "Sally didn't know that, though," Sean said. "She brought you the Elmo tonight because she wanted to share it with you."

Walter, quietly, looking at the Elmo doll: "That makes me very happy. Thank you!"

"We'll tell Sally tomorrow," said Sean. "What good kids you both are."

True story!

Included

It was bedtime, and we were trying to get the kids to wind down enough for the usual brush, jammies, books, bed routine.  Walter got his skirt/cape out of his drawer, and Sally lunged for it and took it out of his hands.  He went to take it back, but Sean asked him to back up, and he did. Sally wrapped the shiny blue material around her shoulders like a cloak, fled to the exit, found it blocked and stood with her back to the door, ready to defend her prize. Sean offered her a different piece of fabric, and after very brief consideration she handed Walter his skirt and took the other shiny fabric from Sean.  I applauded both kids for the way they handled the situation, and Walter had a thoughtful look on his face.  Walter went to the door, found it closed, opened it and turned to face us with a stormy look. I predicted he'd slam the door, because kind of an Elsa thing to do, and braced myself for it.  But when he turned around he saw that Sally was right behind him and his expression changed. He looked down at her and smiled, put out his hand, and said very gently. "Come! Come with me, now.  Come up to my castle." Sally beamed up at him, a smile that took over her entire face and her whole little body.  She seemed to levitate a little bit with joy. Sean and I instinctively held back, knowing we shouldn't interrupt this moment, and watched as the two of them, without a glance back to us, walked out of the room together. "Can't stand in the way of that," Sean murmured, and we jumped up to tail them.

Frozen Fever

Along with the terrible stomach virus that swept through our household this week, our family has been hit by a virulent strain of Frozen fever. Symptoms include staying up very, very late screaming and crying "I want to play Fro-zen!" over and over again.

Of course, it's not all bad. Not even close.  Really, overall, it's delightful.  But it is something different, a new level of intensity to Walter's make-believe.

As soon as Walter starting putting words together, he and I came up with this running gag: I'd ask him if he was something else, and he'd set me straight.  "Are you my snuggle bunny?" I'd ask.  "No," he'd say, seriously.  "I'm your Walter."

While playing train, I'd ask, "Are you the conductor?"
"No. I'm Walter."

"Mmmmm. This meal is delicious. Are you the chef?"
"Chef Walter, Mama.  I am Walter."

I loved this exchange, how reliable it was, how affirming of his essential Walter-ness. Now, though, it's different.

"Walter, dinner's ready!"
"I'm Elsa."

He's usually Elsa, although tonight he switched over to Anna for a short time, which was honestly quite a relief to me.  I've spent some time, you see, thinking about the tortured, desperate character of Elsa and worrying about her appeal to my young son.  Oldest child, you know.  Burdened by her well-meaning parents with unrealistic expectations for self control. (In defense of me and Sean, our efforts to teach Walter how to use "I" statements and calm himself with deep breaths is a long way from "conceal, don't feel" territory.)  Full of magic and power, but terrified that with that great power she will accidentally hurt her little sister. So much responsibility, so much angst. "Ohhhhhh, I'm such a fool, I can't be free!" she sings, and it makes your chest just ache for her. And for your oldest child, who knows there is no escape from the storm of powerful emotions brewing inside of him, just the temporary relief that comes from counting down from five to calm down.

Or perhaps Walter, like every other child his age,  likes Elsa's magic, and her beautiful dress, and that awesome song she gets to sing.

And so he sings, perfectly, word for word. "The snow glows white on the mountain tonight, not a footprint, to be seen ..." He makes his big blue eyes Disney-wide and practices saying, "Anna!" with different emotions, expressions, and tones of voice. He wears the cape/skirt I made him for his birthday tied up like a halter dress, and seems to have finally forgiven me for not making it pink or purple because, after all, Elsa's dress is blue. He plays Frozen at school, outside on the playground and inside in the dress-up area.  While many of his friends have more variety in their play, I get the sense that Walter can always find at least one friend to play Frozen with, and sometimes more.  I asked him once, "You always seem to play Elsa.  What if someone else wants to be Elsa?" "Then we have two Elsas," he explained.  "Jackson was Elsa with me today."

Not gonna lie, I was relieved to hear that Walter isn't the only boy in his class pretending to be the snow queen.  And then felt bad that I felt relieved.

Walter as Elsa/Daddy/Conductor 

Here's the thing: I have this deep hope that Walter will always be loved and accepted exactly as he is.  And I have this fear that, any minute now, this blissful window of love and acceptance will come crashing closed and crush his spirit.  This is a fear I endeavor mightily to control, because it could keep me from enjoying these amazing moments of play, these increasingly brilliant imaginative adventures.

Today, for example, Walter told us one of his teachers at school told him he couldn't play dress up.  I was alarmed.  His teachers have always encouraged Walter to be fully himself, dressing up however he wants, with no gender norming at all.  Was this the beginning of the end?

No. Walter gradually revealed that he'd "made bad choices" and used his current favorite attention-getting naughty word, "stupid."  The consequence was no dress up.  Such a relief.  Except for the part about him using the word "stupid" ... that's no good.

When we play Frozen at home, Walter never casts his little sister as Anna, though I think there are some striking similarities there.  Youngest child, you know.  Effortlessly charming, open and honest, flinging herself heedlessly through life like it's one giant "crazy trust exercise."  Slightly more pigment in her eyes and skin than her superblonde older sibling.  But even though she's really the hero of the film, no one seems to want to be Anna. Sally, like most of her peers, prefers Elsa. "Elsa," she says. And then sings, pitch-perfect: "Go!" Tonight, when Walter took it off for a moment, she pounced on his blue skirt, twirled it around herself, sang "Go!" and tried to abscond with it.  She tripped on it, of course, and when I went to help her up and get it away from her she resolutely would. not. let. it. go.

This struck me as very Anna-like.

I am usually Anna, except when Walter wants to be Anna, and then I'm Elsa.  We decided earlier this week that Hank and Sally could not be cast as Prince Hans, because neither of them would understand that we were just pretending they were the villain, and it would be confusing and unfair to yell at them for their villainy.  So, Hank was (aptly) cast today as the reindeer, Sven.  Sally, we decided, could be that adorable little baby troll who sings about tinkle. That leaves Sean as Prince Hans, which is OK, because no one could ever mistake him for an actual bad guy ... clearly this is pure pretend.  We don't have a Kristoff, because I think Walter forgets that character exists. Walter (Elsa) makes Olaf, and sometimes makes him visible by pretending his stuffed dinosaur is the lovable snowman.

You can see why he's excited and reluctant to go to bed.  We've had some success telling him that he needs to recharge his powers at night, which is why I think he switched to being Anna right before bed tonight. "I'm Anna," he argued proudly. "I have no powers."

I argued right back, and told him he had plenty of powers. "You are full of true love," I said. "You are brave and kind.  And you need to recharge all of those powers tonight. Go to sleep!"

He didn't buy it (but he is finally sleeping.)

This morning, both kids woke up ridiculously early and ended up in bed with me and Sean. While Sally slept, Walter gently took her hand. "You are Anna," he told me over Sally's fuzzy head.  "I am Elsa." "Who is Sally?" I asked. He looked down at her fondly, and smiled. "Our baby!" he said. She woke up, stretched, smiled and cuddled up to Walter. "Waltee!" she said. "Waltu!"  Walter looked proud, "Yay!" he said. "She's saying my name!"

And I soaked up that essence of Walter and Sally, which, by any other names, would still be as sweet.

And then they started to pinch and annoy each other, which is, after all, also essential.

Blatant, unmediated bragging

I wear my sunglasses at night

Sally tinkled on the potty tonight.  Yes, that Sally.  The one who is 16 months old.

I'll have to check with my friend Pastor B., because I think maybe his daughter used the potty at some even more ridiculously early age, and maybe this sort of thing happens all the time in the world of girls, and particularly in the world of girls who are younger siblings of children who are in the midst of potty training, but all that being said ... we are impressed.

I went back through some old blog posts and I don't think we documented Walter's first potty use.  My guess is that it happened some time during my first trimester of pregnancy with Sally, when I did lots of sleeping and next to no blogging.  I'm OK with not knowing, though, because no matter when Walter did it, Sally's potty use tonight was quite an accomplishment for her.  And for him, too.  As Sally sat down on the potty before their tub, Walter gave her lots of encouragement.  "Yay, Sally!  You can do it, Sally!"  And when she, grinning, had a little tiny tinkle, we all celebrated together, and acknowledged that having a potty role model in Walter has certainly been a contributing factor in Sally's interest, persistence, and delight in this new experience.

Now, if only Sally could teach Walter how to lie down and go to sleep at bedtime.

Twinkle

Since before she was born, Walter has been practicing making his little sister feel better when she's sad.  "When Sally gets here," we told him, "She's going to cry. A lot. Can you help us make her feel better when she's sad." Walter got thoughtful, and started to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."  "That's great!" we told him.  "When Sally is sad, you can sing to her!"

He's done a lot of singing to Sally these almost-eight months. He always tries the Twinkle, first. She keeps crying, though, because that's what babies do.  Especially in the car where she can't see him and is too upset to be comforted by anything or anyone.

But tonight, Sally took a tumble while cruising around the living room. She hit her noggin rather gently; mostly I think she was surprised and getting tired.  She kept crying even when I picked her up and comforted her.  Walter stopped playing trains with Daddy and came over to us. He approached her very gently, and spoke to her quietly to get her attention. Her crying quieted down.  He started singing, "Twinkle, twinkle little star ...."

With tears still in her eyes, Sally started to smile, and then laugh.  It worked!  It finally worked!

It's been a rough week

Earlier this week, Sally and Walter started competing to see who could get the least amount of sleep.

Sally blinked. Or rather, slept.  Her worst night was Tuesday and it has been steadily getting better since then, though not back to the ridiculously wonderful 9-11 hours straight she was sleeping last week. She likes to kick Daddy out of bed in the morning and sleep for an hour or so in bed with Mama, taking up the majority of the queen-size bed for her little princess self.

So, Walter was like: "You lightweight! Greenhorn! Newbie! I could not-sleep you under the table. See? I've gotten so little sleep, I'm SICK. Take that! Ha ha ha haaaaacck cough vomit whimper sneeze cough cough."

Walter seems to have entered the eternal feedback loop of lousy sleeping (lousy sleep leads to sickness leads to more lousy sleep.) We're trying to get him to bed earlier (he is successfully resisting this) and taking him into the bathroom for steam treatments as needed.  But it looks like it might be a very goopy Christmas.

Sally turns four months old tomorrow; Walter 26 months the day after.  I don't know if she's really an easy baby or if being 4 months old is just that much easier than being 26 months old.  She gives us beautiful smiles and, very rarely, the hints of a funny little laugh.  While she's still finding her laughing voice, her yelling at us voice is quite developed, as is her pleasant chatting and her espresso machine imitation.  She is strong enough to ride front-facing in the baby bjorn and she's been using the exersaucer at daycare (spoiler alert: we're breaking out the exersaucer for her for Christmas.)  She's been doing pretty well at daycare. At first she wouldn't take a bottle, but now she does, though she still doesn't drink from the bottle as much or as well as Walter did at this age.  But she's growing: she's wearing 6 month clothes and I think she probably needs to move up to size two diapers.  Her face is filling out and she has a pleasant, solid heft to her that is very satisfying.  One of the highlights of my work days is going into Room 1 to nurse her at lunchtime.  

Sally seems to have gotten over her very strong aversion to hats. She likes touching our faces (as gently and lovingly as she is able with her developing muscle control.) She likes gnawing on our fingers, and we're pretty sure the first teeth are on their way in.  She likes books and toys and anything new ... most of all she likes watching and, more and more, directly interacting with Walter.  We're letting him play with her a little more, now, and she loves it.  Everything he does, she watches with great interest.

Walter "feeding" Sally. They love playing together! 

I expected that Sally would adore Walter.  Babies love older kids; they're fascinating.  What I didn't expect and what constantly takes me by surprise is how much Walter loves Sally.  It doesn't make any sense to me.  I mean, sure, she's completely wonderful and adorable and cute and cuddly, but I figured a two year old would be largely immune to that, especially since he doesn't really get to snuggle her as much as Sean and I do. And I would have thought the crying and the fussing and the taking Mama's attention would have been major strikes against her. (Walter did confide in Sean that Baby Sally's crying hurts his ears sometimes. Or, as Walt likes to put it these days, "Just a little bit.")  I guess I expect a toddler's love to be mostly conditional and entirely self-centered: love based on what others do for him.  But it's not.  Walter loves Sally just for being Sally, just for being part of the family.  I love the way he always includes her (and Hank) in his list of family members. "Walter and Mama and Dada and Baby Sally and Hankie!"

On a related note, tonight Sean offered to take Walter to the store to go Christmas shopping.  At first, Walter was excited, but then the tired sickies started to get him down.  "You and Mama and Baby Sally go to the store," he told Sean.  "Walter stay home. With Hankie."  Heh.

Walter loves to bake with me; we've made cookies twice this past week, it being Christmastime and all, and he's absolutely brilliant at it.  He can do everything: stir, mix, beat, crack eggs, measure, dump, fold, portion ... pretty much everything except put it in and take it out of the oven.  I am proud beyond words.  These days Walter also enjoys watching and reading Curious George (the same videos over and over and over ... gahhhhhhh) and building really awesome elaborate structures with blocks. He plays with my old Fisher Price doctor kit and does this great singing doctor routine: "This is gonna hurt a little bit ... You gonna feel betteerrrrrrr!" He loves to sing and play his ukulele, or any other instrument he can get ahold of.  Tonight he played the bongos using his maracas as drumsticks.

Walter kind of vacillates between being astoundingly mature for his age and genuinely fun to be with and being really typically difficult for his age and exhausting to be with.  The difficult days tend to coincide with lack of sleep. Recent studies show that consistent bedtime is the key to better behavior. In other news: duh. Breaking headline: Bite me, researchers. You get my kids to bed.

It's possible that I, too, would be better behaved with a consistent bedtime and more sleep.

Also, this happened. Least accurate depiction of the Holy Family, ever. But pretty fun, nonetheless.

 

Twos

Today was Sally's 2 month birthday. Tomorrow, Walter turns two.  And something wonderful and new happened between the two of them today.

I was in the bathroom, getting ready for work. Sally was in her small swing, the one we affectionately call "the bucket." She used to hate it, but now she's doing well with it in small doses. Sally very patiently tolerates almost everything--diaper changes, nose drops, Vitamin D drops, me picking boogers out of her nose, me trimming her nails by biting them--everything except for hats. She LOATHES hats. It's going to be a long winter.

So Sally was in her bucket being awake, alert, and interested in the world in a very mature, two-month-old kind of way. Walter came in to join us, playing a game where he brought me cards from his wallet. He decided to give Sally cards, too, by putting them in the swing with her. I am pretty on-edge when Walter interacts with Sally.  Most of the time he's perfectly gentle and wonderful with her, but every now and then he's accidentally or intentionally rough.  But I'm trying not to be too anxious about it, and I'm trying not to overcorrect him.  So I kept an eye on them and continued to put my make up on.  Walter gave Sally's swing a little, gentle rock. Then a less gentle rock. "Be gentle," I said.

And then I looked at Sally.  She was grinning ear to ear, gazing adoringly at her big brother.

"You made her smile," I said. Walter was pleased. I'm pleased, too.  I don't know much about siblings, but I have a feeling I witnessed the start of a beautiful sibling relationship today that will keep me on-edge for many, many years to come.  

Happy birthdays, you two.

And then he read her a magazine. =)