Happy birthday, dear Harper

Yesterday was Harper's birthday. She has been pretty excited about turning four, but, approximately an hour after waking up, she furrowed her brow and asked when, exactly, she would be Getting Big. Apparently she thought Turning Four meant turning into a big kid overnight, or, perhaps on the actual day of her birthday she would grow at warp speed and end the day as a much larger Harper.

We spent the weekend at my parents' house and celebrated with them and my brother and his family. We enjoyed their new swing set: (the bandaged arm is because of a mosquito bite. She is terribly allergic to them and they turn into these huge, painful welts.)
Made, and ate, cupcakes:And celebrated this sweet, funny, vivacious girl. A few of her favorite things: bugs, cars, ballet shoes, being called Lightning, drawing, eating (almond cheese, raspberries, and Veggie Booty are favorites, but she pretty much enjoys everything we give her), going to the park, playing in the sink with her bath toys, watching "Berenstain Bears" dvds, performing puppet shows for Helena, picking flowers, wearing band-aids, mothering her stuffed puppy, brushing her teeth, going to Target, typing on the computer, watching "Survivor Man" and baseball with Daddy, and getting her back scratched. A few of her not so favorite things: writing her name (she used to like it very much but lately has decided that she can't do it just right and will, therefore, not do it at all. Sigh.), having her hair washed, sharing, singing on cue (though if she thinks no one is listening, she'll belt it out in the car), listening to Helena or Hudson cry, watching anything that she isn't absolutely certain has not one scary thing in it (she won't even watch her beloved "Cars" anymore, presumably because of Frank the Scary Threshing Machine--we aren't really sure because she won't talk about it) and not being able to do things well the very first time she tries.

I just can't believe how fast it goes. You are a delight and we are so thankful for you, dear daughter.

I have tried. I have failed.

I'm just going to say it.

American Idol is STUPID.

Please note, as you quiver with indignation, that I did not accuse anyone who likes it of being stupid. I usually watch a couple of nights of the beginning auditions if there is nothing else on, but this year there was just Too. Much. Stupid. So I didn't watch. Then, as usual, I have skipped the entire season because watching people sing is boring to me AND I simply cannot stand to listen to people sing when they are not on key. And that happens lots and lots when the Idol contestants get their Billy Joel or Barry Manilow or Bette Midler on. (Incidentally, from a very young age I also cringed inwardly during Solos Sung in Church by people who, inevitably, were a little flat, usually off tempo just a smidge, and sometimes holding the liner notes of their Amy Grant cassette in their trembling hand so as not to forget the second verse of "El Shaddai". Painful.) Anyway, even though I abstain during the season, I usually try to watch the final night, mostly because I like to watch people win things. It's just happy and sweet to see someone fulfill a dream, even the vapid dream of Pop Stardom. (I also like to watch the last 5 minutes of that show where they build people the fancy new house. Sometimes I cry a little.) So I got everyone to bed tonight and told the husband that we might want to watch a little Idol. We actually made it through the KISS abomination, mostly because I had to explain KISS to the husband who was too young and/or sheltered to know why in the world Gene Simmons kept sticking his tongue out. And then, hey, there's Steve Martin with his banjo! Except the girl singer was so flat and off tempo that I almost had to change the channel, but I persevered, because I enjoy Mr. Martin and his banjo. But then when the guy singers all came trotting out and launched into "IF you want my body AND you think I'm sexy" I exclaimed, out loud, "No! I just can't. It is JUST. TOO. STUPID." The husband, in solidarity, I can only assume, with husbands all across America, heartily concurred.

On another musical note, Hudson has discovered that while he is sucking his thumb he can use his index finger to tweak his nose and he hums a little and it's like a little nasal harmonica to accompany me as we sing before bed.

Our friend Izzy did a really good job taking care of Hudson at the zoo today. There was an awful lot of hand holding and even an attempt to pick him up which I would have loved to have a picture of except I lurched to intervene to ensure that the both of them didn't end up in a mangled heap right in front of the carousel. Mrs. B suggested that perhaps Izzy was practicing to carry Hudson across the threshold because, it seems, there's been some talk of Marriage.

Separate

I guess it's obvious I like babies. Always have. I don't remember playing much with baby dolls, but from really early on I liked the real thing. I couldn't wait to be old enough to babysit, though, as is probably often the case, by the time I was really old enough I was consumed with other activities and didn't actually do much of it. It's interesting that with all the baby love I had, I never actually spent much time dreaming about having my own kids. I think I might have secretly suspected that maybe I wouldn't ever get my own. Which would explain why, when I'm driving along in the minivan, I will glance in the rearview mirror, see the carseats and little people and think, "Why, when did THAT happen?" and then feel this overwhelming sense of wonder and gratitude. While each new developmental stage has its own delights (and, naturally, challenges) I really love having a small baby. I love that Helena is so simple in her needs and that I know how to meet them. I love watching her face when I'm about to feed her and she knows what's coming. It is pure adoration. There is something awesome about it--in the true sense of the word. Terrifying and magnificent.

We spent five days at my parents' house last week and it was delightful as usual. As we were pulling out of their driveway to come back home, I noticed that Harper was crying quietly in her carseat. She is usually very obvious (read:LOUD) in her sadness and this was a new, private grief. She has been changing lately in so many ways, and I think it's just a gradual shift in her realization of her place in the world. Unfortunately it mostly seems to be making her feel sort of isolated and sullen and disgruntled. I confess that I am not very patient in handling these new, complicated emotions and the undesirable behaviors that seem to accompany them.

Both Harper and Hudson hum while they eat. It's very sweet because I don't think they even realize they are doing it. They are just content and fulfilled in their endeavor and it manifests in happy sounds. Harper, from a really early age, could sing melodies on key. Hudson sings with gusto and it is so flat that it sounds nothing like the actual tune he's attempting. He does seem to have really good rhythm. So he'll be the family percussionist if we do our own Jonas Brothers thing.

I started reading Atlas Shrugged a couple of weeks ago and am only on page 63. It has over 1,000 pages. The cover art should really portray Atlas with a copy of Atlas Shrugged on his shoulders.

Three months

The sweet baby girl was three months old yesterday. She is doing lots of smiling, though I've yet to get a picture. She loves to be looked at and talked to and will reward me with coos and other very cute sounds if I give her undivided attention. She has chuckled a few times--the first time was while looking at herself in the mirror during her bath. Her favorite place, after the bathtub, is the changing table. It makes her very chatty. Which is adorable unless I have to change her in the middle of the night and she sees it as an opportunity for extended social interaction. She is only waking up once a night most nights, usually after 8 or 9 hours, then she eats and goes right back to sleep. She takes 3 naps a day and at least one of them is usually 3 hours. When she's awake she likes to do this:

Dancing Brother is way more entertaining than swinging farm animals. She hasn't quite made up her mind about the Bumbo:

Knock, knock. Who's there? Mommy.

It's interesting and at times, unfortunate, that as a toddler develops, he often acquires certain skills that get him into quite a predicament several weeks or even months before he develops the necessary skill to get himself out of said predicament. Climbing up? Much easier than climbing back down. Closing the door? Much easier than opening the door. Locking said door? Much easier than unlocking said door. A month or so ago while I was putting Helena down for a nap Hudson managed to get stuck in the bathroom. He closed the door then opened the drawer right next to the door. The door, unfortunately, opens inward, or, I should say, opens inward if there is not a drawer pulled out in front of it. It took me a minute to realize our predicament. "Hudson, can you close the drawer buddy?" Silence. "Hudson, it's mommy. CLOSE the DRAWER." More silence. The door would only open about an inch so I couldn't actually see anything and I started to get a mite concerned, remembering stories of toddlers drowning in toilets etc. etc. I get a little screechy. "HUDSON YOU NEED TO TALK TO MOMMY CAN YOU HEAR ME!?" Tiny little voice says, "Yes ma'am." Okay, not face down in the toilet. At this point the husband gets home from work (nothing says Welcome Home Honey like a small child trapped in the bathroom) and takes over. It's funny how the phrase "close the drawer" sounds kind of like "knock on the door". The husband would say Hudson, CLOSE the DRAWER and Hudson, obedient boy that he is would quietly knock on the door. This went on for about 30 minutes while the husband tried several different feats of kitchen utensil engineering/McGyver tricks to get the drawer closed. Nothing worked so he ended up having to force the door open which broke the drawer but not the door. As soon as he got out we played a little game we like to call This Is How To CLOSE a Drawer.

So I tell you that little anecdote because I am fond of foreshadowing. Harper has been really into bugs the last couple of weeks. Mostly rolly-polies, but we also have two June bugs and a lovely collection of slugs and snails courtesy of our friends Izzy and Abby. She loves these bugs with an ardor that will hopefully someday be bestowed upon an actual pet (today she found 6 cents on the floor and when I told her she could keep it she said she wanted to take it to church and give it to someone who needed it. Someone who maybe needed to buy a puppy for their children. Sweet. Sad, but sweet) and she tends to them and mothers them all day long. So this morning she found another rolly-poly to add to the squirming mass she already has. She noticed that the leaf she had in there was almost gone and suggested she needed to go out on our patio and retrieve another. Our patio is, thanks to the deluge this week, mosquito infested so I told her I would quickly go out and grab one. She agreed and said she needed to go to the bathroom. Helena was waking up from her morning nap as I stepped out. Hudson was watching "Sesame Street." I closed the door carefully so that no mosquitoes would get in and bent down to find a dead leaf because I read that the rolly polies prefer the decaying vegetation to the green stuff. Just as I was standing back up and had my hand on the door knob I see Hudson standing there with one thumb in his mouth and his other hand...click. That's right. Click. He looked pleased. I am locked on the patio. In my pajamas. And the only child inside the house capable of UNlocking the lock is sitting on the toilet waiting for me to wipe her bottom. Hudson has wandered back to "Sesame Street" because Mommy on the Patio is not as compelling, apparently, as Pets on Elmo's World. So I start knocking to get his attention. He comes back to the door, smiles sweetly, and knocks back. "Turn the LOCK Hudson! The L-L-LOCK!" Another sweet smile. Another knock. I realize the futility and decide that getting Harper to come is probably my only hope. So I go to the window closest to the bathroom and try to yell as quietly as possible because we live in an apartment complex and have 100 or so neighbors who might have still been asleep. "HARPER! IT'S MOMMY AND I'M OUTSIDE AND I NEED YOU TO GET OFF THE POTTY--IT'S OKAY TO WIPE YOURSELF THIS ONCE--AND COME HELP MOMMY! HARPER! GET OFF THE POTTY AND COME HERE!" This went on for around 10 minutes, during which I could hear Harper chanting, "Mommy! I'm finished! I'm ready to get off the potty!" Finally she realized that something was amiss, came wandering out, and unlocked the door. I got poor Helena who had worked herself into quite a frenzy, made sure Harper washed her hands, and sat down to the dulcet strains of "Pets, pets, pets! Pets, pets, pets! Pets, pets, pets, pets, pets! That's Elmo's world!"