Another First

It seems that once your kids are walking and talking and potty trained, the milestones slow down a bit. You stop watching the calendar, counting down the days until he can cry it out, toddle across the room and eat his first PB&J, and you settle into normal life, where you seldom know what day it is and catch yourself when you almost forget that his first word was "baa" (ball). And suddenly, your little guy starts wearing holes in the knees of his jeans (and socks) and ardently expresses his opinion when it comes to his upcoming fifth birthday party. Cliche or not, the time it flies as babies become big kids.

Yep, that's a lightning bolt onesie -- Andy's first official act as Daddy.

But the milestones still come. The trick is slowing down enough to catch them. To remember them and jot them down so that, just as you will always remember his first word that he thoughtfully saved for his mama's birthday, you will also always remember that his first bad dream was about rainbow-colored ants. And in the rush of getting out the door this morning, I am oh so grateful that he wandered into the bathroom still sleepy-eyed but anxious to tell me about it (because my light-sleeping husband answered his middle-of-the-night call before I even stirred).

And it goes like this (in Porter's words).

I was outside and there were ants all over the ground. They were all different colors -- not just black -- like red and orange and blue and green and yellow and purple and turquoise [which he pronounces toourrrr-coys] and all the other colors. And when I kneeled down, I accidentally squished one, and when I looked at my knee, my pants were covered in a scary, slimy ant face. So then -- not in my dream just in real life -- I yelled for you and Daddy and I woke up but was still scared.

And can I just tell you how happy I was to hear that his dream was not about something truly scary -- like real life scary -- but was instead about smashing a bug?

I've been fretting lately because we are to the point that we have to start talking to Porter about strangers and how to get out of the house if there is a fire and why it is not ok to say the "bad word" his friend at preschool said when they were pretending to be "bad guys and superheroes." And I just don't feel ready to give up one bit of his innocence. But even though I refuse to let him watch anything more grown-up than The Backyardigans and will willingly sit through seven straight and very long games of Chutes and Ladders with enthusiasm if it means he doesn't think to ask about video games, it seems the milestones keep coming. He keeps getting older. And I worry, thinking this moment, this tantrum, this milestone is the beginning of the end.

He had a bad dream about colorful ants. And then asked me to say a prayer with him in the morning "to ask Heavenly Father to make sure I never have a bad dream about ants again."

Do I wish he would stop calling me "dude" and was not so interested in "bad words" and telling me all the reasons why he "likes but does not love" his little sister? Of course. But -- at least until we have to talk about daily showers and deodorant -- the scary slimy ant face dream has reminded me just how much fun each milestone really is.

So grateful this one made me a mommy five years ago. And a little heartbroken that he keeps growing up.

 

Our Lightning Bolt

Andy and I met playing soccer. He made fun of my color-coordintaed practice gear and I rolled my eyes when he flexed his calf muscles and told me I could call him "sweet legs." And then he ran me into the ground because I was too stubborn to admit that I was any less strong or fast than he was, and he was too busy showboating to graciously take victory in stride. Two weeks later, we went on our first date. Four years later (to the day), we tied the knot, and two years after that, we watched our soon-to-be firstborn furiously kick his legs on an ultrasound screen while proudly sharing sentiments about strength and speed and, yes, sweet legs.

And one week shy of his five-year-old birthday, that sweet little guy from the ultrasound screen followed "Coach Andy" onto the field for his first soccer game.

And I couldn't help but wake up with butterflies Saturday morning at the realization that my little boy is not so little anymore.

And oh, was he excited to join in the big kid fun, wearing a nervous little smile all morning and demanding that everyone in the family wear red "so I will know you're cheering for me and not the other guys."

So excited, in fact, that he doesn't even realize the final score was green dragons: 16, red thunderbolts: 1.

The highlights:

Porter spent a good three quarters of his playing time either flexing his muscles or mimicking whatever his BFF Wes was doing (which was a whole lot of back stretching and air kicking).

At one point, in fact, he and Wesley were so distracted with one another that, while standing at the mid-line for a kick-off, they ignored the whistle and the coaches' directions for a good two minutes while exchanging plans that included, "I am going to kick so hard!" -- "Yeah, me too!" And I am going to run so fast!" -- "Me too!" "And I am going to be so good at soccer!" Needless to say, there was a lot more of this,

and this,

and this,

Than this,

And it was fun.

Sugar & Spice

She prefers to dress herself.

So much so, that if she is nearby when you open her closet door, she immediately starts reaching on tiptoes for low-hanging corners of shirts and sundresses while shouting out colors at random -- hoping one of her choices will stick.

Of course, she generally picks shorts on a 14-degree day or a too big sweater that I bought on clearance while stocking up for next year.

But it's oh so much fun.

Like enough fun that I intentionally take her to the closet even though I know one or the other of us will leave the selection process irked by the other's stubbornness (We should have known the genetic mixer of Andy and Jen would not make for easy-going offspring).

I love my kids equally but...

it sure is fun to have a little girlie.