Seven years

It actually doesn't sound like a lot of time, especially both of our parents celebrating their fortieth this year and the next. When we look back, though, and look at not the years but the experiences, that's when it feels like it starts to add up. It's strange to realize that we've had the blog for five of those years, so a lot of those experiences have been journaled here over time. In 2005 there was our first furniture purchase, a trip to D.C., separations, and togetherness. And who can forget Raspberry? In 2006 it was all about Calvin, of course, or about being new parents, with an occasional reference to pets, zoo trips, or bald heads. In 2007 he got there was great sadness, many joys, and even some travel. 2008 found us in a new house in a new town, traveling to much more distant lands than before, and trying our hands at new things that happen to be still in progress (I can't believe how small our veggie garden was then!). 2009 was our first ER visit (can't forget that), more travel and trying new things (and hey, I knew the garden got bigger). It's amazing how much has changed. Now let's come back from that short jog down memory lane.

We have wonderful families who gathered last night to celebrate our seven years together with great conversation and fabulous food—thank you to everyone for the food (because everyone except us made something), the fun, the love, the gifts, the all around great time.

And we tried to get one of just the two of us, but some strange little tyke kept running up to join in the fun, not to be left out.

Piano recital the first

Calvin has been taking piano lessons for about three months now. He started back in March with group lessons coming from Mrs. Faber, Jon's boss, and has been continuing his learning at home with both of us helping him. He loves to play, and there are days when, from the kitchen while I'm making dinner, I'll hear him sit down and play a song or practice a piece that had previously been difficult for him. He has been improving and learning by leaps and bounds, so when Jon planned a summer recital for his seven studetns and Calvin was eager to participate, we saw no harm in him doing so. In fact, far from it being detrimental, the recital was a wonderful experience for him. It is, after all, one thing to hear your talented and studied father play the piano, and a whole different world to to hear and see other young and inexperienced students of varying levels perform. He played well—very well, really, not even allowing audience noise or minor errors slip him up—and we'd like to point out (because we are, after all, proud and biased parents) that he even plays one song with multiple hands and fingers going. And when it came to the other kids playing he listed with rapt attention. We could not have asked for a better first recital.

To Calvin, who is four years old today

Four years old. I asked you this morning what is different now that you are four, or what can you do now that you are four that you couldn't when you were only three? "Well, I can play the piano" you answered, and then you proceeded alternately to ponder and to list all the new things about your life; you can reach the bathroom sinks and the washer with the short stool, you can write you're name and Gram's name, you can feed the pets without any help, you sleep in bed with no guard rail, and now your car seat is facing forward in the car. This was your short summary of the past year of your life—your sum of your own accomplishments—but the conversation itself was the measuring stick I really wanted. A year ago you were already an articulate and ready speaker, and the year of development has only strengthened that trait in you so that our conversation this morning was a real treat, as are our conversations most any time.

It was especially interesting to me the items with which you chose to mark your progress—the things that allow you more personal freedom, and the things that feel like real grown-up accomplishments to you, but none of the more general milestones, like running longer distances (almost a mile!), being able to kick and throw balls well, or finally being able to climb the bars at the park on your own. I figure that some of your filtering was temporal; it's not likely you remember that it was a month after you turned three when you (of your own choice and volition) swore off wearing diapers, but since we only just turned your car seat around last week it's that which stands out vividly in your mind. And perhaps you don't remember that you once drew and painted only in scribbles and blobs, and then one day last December I found real faces with stick bodies,which you promptly identified as ("of course") garbage men, hiding in one of your pictures. I'm absolutely certain that it seems to you as though you've always sung on key, though it was just over the past year that you have developed the ability so that others agree with you much of the time. Maybe most notably this is the year you started to learn to read, though I don’t think you see that as a milestone reached yet. First you recognized the letters, then you could write your own name, and shortly after you declared that it was time learn to read, so you did. You started with short phonics books of few words, but it is clear that you are on the verge of a major breakthrough.

These are some of the things with which I choose to mark your year of growth and maturing, but none of them is so precious to me as your new forms of communicating love; It is only in the past year that you have begun to say "I love you" or to throw your arms around one of us or kiss us with your own spontaneity true feeling. Nor are any of your milestones as rewarding to us as parents as your ever burgeoning interest in exploring and discovering both the physical and the metaphysical world. It was two years ago that "why?" first entered your vocabulary in a rather demanding way, and you have exercised that question with increasing insistence ever since. In response to your questioning attitude we have tried to expand your horizons and the world you have to explore; we have added books to your collection, allowed some very limited computer or TV time (you love building train tracks on the computer or watching the Plant Earth documentary on TV), taken you to new places (this week we embark on your first memorable cross country visit) and offered new entertainments, and expanded our own theories of the proper amount of information to include in any answer we give you.

Over the past year you have pushed us to expand our own horizons and constantly reassess our previously immoveable views on parenting. Your exploration has not been limited to the outside world, but also includes your own position in our family and your role there; you have never been prone to tantrums or to physical outbursts, but over the past year you have evolved an ability to push limits, question actions, and force us to take new, clearer stands. I have come to expect no less from you than a discussion, albeit not always a calm one, about not new requests, but old requisites. We do our utmost best to always give you a choice by which you can create your own outcome, but you have already begun to see through this and to actually question the validity of the options ("I don't want to do either of those, I want to..."). Your opinions are often clear, though, as is your ability to decide for yourself, if not always what is best then instead what is most desirable, and that is a sign to me of your growing individuality, another sign we take as a reward.

Our life with you continues to be a joy. We have grown comfortable, if not always at ease, with our roles as parents and with the dynamics of our immediate community—our family—and plan to keep it at this size. We greet each new year with eager anticipation and only brief nostalgic looks at the past. The whole world opens before you, and us, with years of learning, traveling, exploring, developing, experimenting. We look forward to it all, and we love you.

Celebrating four

I say celebrating, not turning, because he's not actually four yet and I want to hold onto every last second of three that I can. So while he turns four on Wednesday, we opted to celebrate the event this weekend in our usual fashion—with cake and ice cream, a few gifts, and the love of family.

He asked for strawberry cake, so that's what we made. The face is something he learned from his gram.

We always ask that gifts, especially toys, are kept to a minimum, and our families are very obliging. The gifts this year were Lincoln Logs, a tool belt with tools, a wood baking pie for his kitchen, and books (our favorite).

I think that my favorite part of the party was the cake, but that could be because it took quite a bit of time and creative energy to make that strawberry sheet cake into a freight train carrying carrying fruit and zoo animals.

Time warp

I lost a week. A whole week! Not in the real world, of course, but my usual blog writing time is either after Calvin is in bed at night (when, for the past week, we've been working until the wee hours on a project for work) or when he is in bed during the afternoon for naptime. Well, guess what? That few hours reprieve in the middle of the day is no more. Though he is actually still happy to oblige with a nice two to three hour nap every afternoon if I send him up to take one, the extra afternoon sleep was making bedtime into a battle, and even after he was in bed, at around 9pm, he wouldn't fall asleep until almost 11pm, and would spend the time between yelling for this or for that, or singing (albeit happily) at the top of his lungs. Sans nap, he is now in bed ten minutes before 8pm, and is asleep before the hour hits. Amazing! And quiet. And since he's not unhappy during the day without the nap, and is very willing to spend an hour or more of "quiet" time alone in his room anyway, this is the route we've decided to take, not to mention that it is easier to organize a day without having a chunk of time during which I am chained to the house to tiptoe around a sleeping child after hanging a do-not-disturb sign on our usually friendly front door. It is a new-found freedom.

But I did lose a whole week last week, and rather than try to go back and pick it up, I'm just going to start fresh from right here, now that I have my new daily structure re-worked out. I'll be back with pictures later, and crafts, meal plans, recipes, etc. I can see already that my hour of "quiet time" this afternoon will be busy.