Enjoy this wonderful holiday!

With bonus tip of cat tail and some serious train-playing activity.

Or, “I nearly gave my Mama a heart attack. Silly me!”

There are many well-worn adages about parenthood that I often mentally refer to as well, that won’t happen to me warnings. You know, things like: infants not sleeping through the night, breastfeeding isn’t easy, toddlers don’t eat, toddlers have tantrums, etc. I only half listen when I hear them, foolishly optimistic that I will skirt every scenario and find myself the exception to a rather unbending rule. Let’s add a new one to the list, shall we? I can now claim membership in the “I only turned my head for a second and he wasn’t there when I looked back” category of parenting.

Sunday afternoon, Adam, Benjamin and I all took in the colorful sights of Christmas trees at the Museum of Science and Industry. I love, love, love holiday excess and nothing quite does it like this display. Benjamin, as to be expected, was more interested in the large model train display. And in being held by Daddy, which is likely why Adam is still nursing a muscle knot the size of Texas. (And, let me add that I am stoically trying my hardest to refrain from jealousy that Ben is going through an all-Daddy, all-the-time phase. I’m not entirely chopped liver, but then, I’m not cake either. Who am I here? I am not a jealous person. But I digress….)

On Sunday evening, I had about 5 million books to return to the library, so I decided to bring along my already overstimulated toddler on what is undoubtably a very mundane task. Also? Sometimes I don’t think things through all the way. Those that know I spent two weeks in beauty school before dropping out need no further evidence of this claim. But for reasons unknown to me, it made perfect sense to take an already-yawning toddler, bundle him in the car and then unbundle him while balancing books, videos and CDs in my wobbly arms. Great fun. But, enter greater fun still. I was just  unloading my last armful of books into the return bin, having just glanced to see Ben standing there, when I glanced back and noticed empty floor where there was once a Benjamin.

Have you ever just been standing someplace unawares and then all of a sudden, someone running to get somewhere quickly knocks into you and you both fall down? One minute you were standing and then the next minute you were toe-up in the air and wondering why you were staring at a large cloud mass. This is kind of how it felt to turn around and not see Benjamin there. Instantly, I had a heart palpitation so fierce that it rivaled a grand coronary. Oh, Lord, did he exit the main doors to the outside? Oh MY GOD, did someone take him? I started darting around the front entryway, looking outside, looking in the cafe, nearly pushing people out of my way in my frantic dash around the relatively small space. In the end, he had followed someone through the open door leading into the main library – a distance of about 5 feet from where I was standing. He was darting around  the interior lobby of the library, laughing and giggling without a care in the world. Enter distraught mother, eyes of the world on her, wondering why in the hell she allowed her toddler naughty, unchecked free reign of the library.

I suppose that you never really learn something until you experience that very thing for yourself. Let this be the conclusion of this little lesson.

I think Ben’s response to the first snows of the season can be called trepidatious excitement. He likes the falling snow. I believe he finds it pretty, or at the very least interesting. I believe he is intrigued by promises of this thing known as a “snowman.” He is unsure of the snowsuit and boots, but they might be OK. Playing in the snow might be fun, but it might be awful.

This weekend, if the weather permits and we actually still have some snow on the ground, I am going to take Ben out for his very first ride on a little wooden sled. My plan is to pull him around the complex or the nature center or some such thing. I haven’t worked out the details yet. Our forecast doesn’t look promising, but there is only so many times a gal can pull a child in a sled around the apartment in anticipation for the real thing. At the very least, we’ll bundle in the stroller and have a nice walk looking at Christmas decorations.

Speaking of which, he loves them. Loves the Christmas lights. Loves the Christmas trees. Loves the ornaments, the sparkle, the garland, everything. He has a little miniature tree that I put out for him and he decorates this religiously every night. He carefully arranges and then rearranges the ribbons that I gave him to use as garland. He stuffs ornaments in to the branches. He stuffs his pacifiers into the branches and calls them “Kissmas plug!” I mean, really. That’s cute.

We have to finish decorating our big tree this weekend. We got it set up. We pulled out all the ornaments. We have everything ready and waiting and now we need to put it all together. This is our first official tree as a family. You practically sit in it when you are sitting on the couch, but that is neither here nor there. It’s going to be lovely.

Also… a certain someone is going to be getting a train set from Santa Mama and Santa Daddy this year. No, not me. No, not Adam. Yes, the cats! You know they are going to be lying all over this thing, right? Trains up their ‘tocks be damned.

A certain me wants an iPod Touch as my gift this Christmas. Do I need one? No? It is a silly extravagance? Yes. Do I want one anyways? You betcha.

A certain Adam wants to not spend any money never ever never on anyone but Ben as his gift this Christmas. Bah humbug. 

There is no possible way that it is already December and that Benjamin’s second birthday is at the end of this month.

Cannot compute.

like a picture of a turkey cake that appears to have been violently beheaded.  Which it was at approximately 11am Thanksgiving morning when I swiped the big dollop of frosted turkey head and jammed it into my mouth with giddy glee. Totally was NOT the child. Totally was me.

Dear Benjamin,

Ah, what interesting mood a bit of a gray, foggy day can bring. I started out tired and ended up contemplative and, while not sad, rather pensive at the conclusion of my day out and about in the world. As I planned to write your monthly letter tonight, I do it from this frame of mind. Which is to say that I am not really sure what direction this mood will take my letter, but it will likely be one of quiet reflection. Let me explain.  Two things happened today in the course of an hour that really shaped my current state of mind.  I had a meeting this afternoon and on my way back to the office, I took note of a sad little sight. A pigeon had flown up on to the tracks of the elevated train and appeared to be hit by the engine. It fell to the ground below and settled on the ground, facing towards a concrete wall. It’s back was badly hurt and it’s leg was broken. Almost instantly I let out a small groan because I knew that the bird would likely not be able to recover and that things would not end well. I was upset that there was nothing I could do and no way in which the animal could really die in quiet dignity. It would die alone, in pain, facing a concrete wall as busy Chicagoans shuffled by, intent on arriving at their next point of destination. And in that moment, I, too, felt alone. Because it’s not very easy to be one of the few people walking along that street that cares about a dirty little pigeon.  I called Daddy right away because, well, he is just about one of the only people in the world that would get why I was choking back tears over an animal most people kick away with an impatient foot as they make their way down Wabash Avenue. And of course, he did. Not only that, but he felt equally upset and wished there was something that he could do as well.

Just a short while later, after I made a few calls to various city agencies to implore someone put the poor bird out of its misery, I engaged in a conversation with a homeless person.  There are many homeless people in Chicago and a number of them find themselves parked in the vicinity of my place of employment. In part this is because there is a large, warm alleyway next to my building that provides excellent, if not temporary, shelter from the cold.  Often, people will ask Mama for money as she is walking to and from work. Mama never has money because Mama has butter fingers and she misplaces it, spends it or generally fails to care for it mere moments after she is in receipt of it. So I didn’t have any money to share with the person when he asked for spare change. Maybe it was because there was so little that I could do for the pigeon. Maybe it was because this person was the fourteenth homeless person I had passed in my 10 minutes of walking and I was feeling a bit frustrated by the occasional, sometimes cruel, harshness of life. Whatever the cause, I quickly motioned for him to follow me into the nearest sandwich shop and I bought him a sandwich and a soda. I hope it helped.

I bring all of this up as a preface to the question that has been dancing around my brain ever since these things happened this afternoon. Namely, when you encounter your world, will you experience similar depths of overwhelming sadness and joy? I always find myself thinking about the boy, then young man and then man that you may grow to be and I wonder, will you see the same radiant glimmers of hope around the sharp edges of despair? Will you stop suddenly in the middle of a walk down a busy morning sidewalk to lean against a building and revel in the sight of a gorgeous sun rising over the lake? And will you think to yourself, “Oh, how wonderfully lovely”? Conversely, will you let this same wall hold you up when you realize that some horrible inevitably is about to unfold and you are powerless to stop it and offer some measure of reverence and dignity to the situation? And will you think to yourself, “Oh, how terribly sad”?

I think, truthfully, you are too young yet for me and Daddy to really sense how compassionate a person you will become. Increasingly, we catch glimpses of an empathy that seems indicative of compassion.  When I or Daddy seem tired or sad or if I have employed the daily ritual of accidentally hurting myself by banging my head or foot or some other body part, you look at me for a moment, as if sizing up the situation, and then generally say a simple, “hugs.” Weeks back, you developed this as your cue to have someone come over to you and give you a hug or lovingly squeeze you in some way. I can’t begin to tell you the number of times you say “hugs” in a day. Or the number of times you run up to my legs or Daddy’s legs and wrap your arms around them and hug.  One of the things I have always loved about Daddy is his absolute desire to embrace Mama in a hug multiple times a day, to tell her that he loves her and to show his affection in other very obvious ways. It’s a little gift that I regularly cherish and can’t imagine a life without it. I’ve always chalked it up to Daddy being a very compassionate person that – deep down – really does love life, though our social world often angers, frightens or disappoints him. As it should. It is at once an amazing and awful place to live out your days.

My rapidly expanding assumption is that you are going to be a man just like your Daddy, because the seeds of this personality seem to be sprouting already.  How wonderful this would be. How absolutely, utterly wonderful. I love the man that Daddy is and love what he brings to our life and to our world. I love that he loves animals, cares about people, does thoughtful things without being asked and tries hard to see both the good and the bad in the world, if not always in equal measure. You can come to Mama for an overwhelmingly upbeat dose of optimism. Go to Daddy for a more tempered version of the same.  So, I guess I love his complexity as well.  I will love the man that you become no matter who you are and how you eventually engage in life with those around you. I think that you will have a very rich, very complex and very wise soul as you mature. I don’t know how that will translate into your very own little personality as a child and then your matured personality as an adult. But you’ll have to forgive my sincere wish that the man you become resemble your Daddy.

I don’t think that you are a simple child. And I mean simple in the unflattering, turn-of-the-century way. What I mean to say is that I think you are already something of a thinker and a liver and a dreamer. I get the real sense, with each passing day, that you are probably not going to be a person that lets life pass by without some serious living. There is an intensity about your play and a conviviality to your interactions with others that suggests a certain joie de vivre. I am thinking back to Halloween this year. It was the first in which you could really participate since your very first Halloween occurred when you were about 10 months old and incapable of walking. I wasn’t really all that worried about putting you in a costume because I just had the sense that you would be fine with the theatrics of it all. And, in fact, you put the costume on without a fuss and wore it for the rest of the evening without a fuss. You walked along the street like it was the most normal thing in the world to be wearing a puppy costume and approached houses with an assured “Here I am” quality that belied your young age. You didn’t quite get that you should say anything to request the candy and you weren’t entirely sure why you were standing on a porch being handed chocolate, but that’s not the point. The point is that you took this very unknown, very novel experience all in stride. I found myself giggling repeatedly throughout the night for this very reason. I would look down at you walking along side me, just bopping along in your costume, or following me up to the front door of a house and waiting there patiently for someone to give us candy and I was amazed at the ease with which you were innately enjoying something as silly and festive as the Halloween holiday.

I’ve got to keep this letter short. You are currently tugging on my leg and begging me to come play with the dough I made you last week. But I just wanted to stop and tell you that I think you are an amazing little person already. I can’t wait to witness the person that you grow into, but don’t let that detract from the fact that I adore being with the little you that you are now. How could something so small be so bright and shining and wonderful? How is it that the sheer act of writing about you just now has taken a gray day and the accompanying gray mood and completely flipped it to a calm peace and a real gratitude for life and my years on this planet. This, above all, is the amazing gift YOU give me every day. Thanks, buddy.

Love,

Mama

Last night, Benjamin did the sweetest thing ever. Come 9pm, I am one exhausted Mama. I try to stay up late enough to read Ben a book before bed and then give him a kiss and let Daddy help him fall asleep. Most nights this works like a charm because most nights be is in bed around 8:30-9:00pm. Some nights, however, something throws Ben’s schedule off and he doesn’t get tired until later. I was playing and playing and playing with him until about 10pm last night and I was getting sooooooooo tired. Finally, I called Adam over into Ben’s room and told him to play with us because I was drifting off and couldn’t focus on the “bumpy tractor” game anymore. (And what is the “bumpy tractor” game? Why it is this very involved game wherein I lay down a thick carpet of Lincoln Logs on a book and then Ben runs them over with a toy tractor and we shout “Bumpy Tractor!”)

So anyways, I’m drifting off in mid-bump, so I lay down on the floor and I lay my head down on my arm to rest. Ben stops playing suddenly and starts looking at me. I can tell he is thinking something, and my first thought is that he may start to play bumpy tractor on Mama’s back. Rather, Ben gets up and pads off out of the room and into what we assume is the living room. He keeps a collection of toys all over the place, so I guessed he was bringing us some blocks. He pads back into the room a few moments later carrying a throw pillow from the couch and softly and carefully places it by my head.

………………………………………………….

I don’t know what to say. That line represents the three minutes I’ve just spent trying to describe the flood of emotions I felt. Awe. Love. Wonder. Joy.

Benjamin is just so wonderful.

I love reading mama blogs. They are sources of inspiration or joy or sorrow and I like to read how other women are making a go of this whole parenting thing.

Earlier in this year, the daughter of a blogger that I read passed away suddenly from an illness. That it occurred at the exact time that Benjamin was very ill and in the emergency room is probably why I continue to feel so connected to this blog. We both had sick kids at the same time, though the outcome was profoundly different. I’ve never talked with the family. Never sent emails or calls. I’ve commented on the blog, but that’s the extent of my outreach. We’re strangers, for all practical purposes. But still – still – it feels like others in the world should acknowledge this birthday, too.

So, on this day, I wish a little happy birthday to a little girl who I never met but hold in my heart in the same way I might hold other loved ones. And by extension, her family as well, because this is the first birthday that they will be celebrating without the guest of honor in their presence.

Happy Birthday, Madeline.

http://thespohrsaremultiplying.com/2009/11/she-would-be-two/

Well, it is.

I can actually do things with the child. In fact, we all seem to do more as a family because the barrier that is 3 flights of stairs has been removed and we can physically leave our residence with relative ease. For example, this weekend? We spent HOURS outside. I mean, it was gorgeous out. Sunny and 60s and just perfect. But that’s not what had us out and about the whole time. No, it was more likely the fact that I could just slide open a screen door and tumble out.

We played in the leaves. We took walks in our wagon. We walked to the park. We ambled about. It was great and left us all feeling a little bit tired but rather satisfied.

We had our suspicions that this was going to be a good move and, though I miss some things about a more city-centric life, this has turned out to be a great move. I really think we’re all happier for it. It makes me crave for wide open spaces and the ability to just get out and roam for hours on end. Watch out nature – apparently I don’t despise you after all.