Smooth moves

For the finale of Jonah's summer camp at the beginning of August, his group of campers performed a little dance in the camp's talent show. He'd practiced his moves for me a couple times at home, but with no knowledge of the song to which they would be performing, or what the moves were actually supposed to be, I had no real way to evaluate his talent. Come of the day of the show, though, I saw that my little Birdie is a very enthusiastic, and maybe even first-rate dancer (you can see a leader doing the moves at the end of the line of kids; Jonah's keepin' up with him). He knew the moves so well; I was so proud of him that, yup, I got a little teary-eyed. I couldn't help but brag to the dad sitting next to me that, "Hey, that's my kid!" Jonah was apparently his group leader's favorite camper -- she told me so! -- which may be why he was chosen to lead the train. Well done, Jonah!

(Wondering about the costumes? We were told to dress the kids in 70's clothes, though, really, who has bell bottom pants for tots? Not I! The leader also suggested vests and buttondown shirts, both of which I was able to pick up at a thrift store. We turned the patterned side of the vest in; Jonah declared that, "My vest is special, because it has bricks inside!" I love his innocence, that he doesn't know when a vest is, well, just a little ugly. The beanie hat, a gift from Gabe's boss, was Jonah's own idea. 70's?, maybe not, but just right for a J-Bird.)

Happy Birthday, Little Birdie!

On July 4, Sweet Baby J celebrated his golden birthday.

Manny celebrated with him.

These are Lego cakes. Legos cakes matched my two criteria for this year's birthday cake: First, it had to be something that Jonah was interested in; and second, it had to be easy to make. Ta-da!

Enjoying birthday cake and birthday ice cream after a birthday dinner of pizza, during a birthday visit from Gangee and Pop-Pop.

Iohan is as excited about Jonah's new car carrier as Jonah is, I think. Jonah's not excited that Iohan's excited, though.

For his birthday, we bought Jonah tickets to a White Sox game. He was generous enough to include Manny in the outing. Here are the boys in their Sox gear, ready for their big adventure.

Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Denny gave Jonah a baseball "glub" (his preferred pronunciation) for his birthday. Pop-Pop and Gangee gave Manny one, too, so that the two could play together, and so that any "it's-not-my-birthday-and-I've-got-no-presents" meltdowns on Manny's part might be prevented. Success! These days, Gabriel takes the boys out nearly once a day to practice. We're counting on someone making the majors!

This may be one of my favorite pictures ever. Baseball brothers, in boots and undies cheesy grins in place.

Te adoramos, Iohan.

We love this baby.

Jo-Io

Really, I just don't think that there's any such thing as too many images of my eldest loving on my youngest. As much as Manny may love Iohan, I think that his toddler-love pales in comparison with Jonah's big brother love. "Let me just see that cute little chubby guy," Jonah pleads when Iohan emerges from his nest in the morning. "Who's got you, little guy? Is that your daddy?" Jonah asks in sweet, high-pitched tones imitative of the "mother-ese" that I use when lovin' on my baby. Jonah tells me, though, that he doesn't want another sibling. I imagine that he thinks that Iohan will always be so small, face breaking with a huge smile, chubby hands and surprisingly sharp-nailed fingers reaching out to grab our faces to mouth them. With my eldest baby about to turn four, and my youngest far too close to crawling, away from me, I sometimes wish that I could freeze time. Jonah's future self, at, let's say, six years old is still a mystery to me and as such is exciting: He'll be reading! Playing sports! Buried in Legos! But experiencing the transition from babyhood to big babyhood and knowing what comes next for the third time now, and knowing what to expect, I find myself mourning the passing of tinyness more that I've done before. I almost wish that, like Jonah, I had no idea about what would come next, but the knowledge throws these baby days into beautiful relief, and all I've left to do is soak it in while I can.

Big baby at the park

When Manny was a baby, Jonah would say that he had "giggled Manny" whenever he made Manny laugh. Here he is, giggling Iohan. Have I

mentioned yet how much he loves his baby brother? A LOT!

Somewhere under that hair, I think, is my son.

Iohan's been into licking lately. Or, snake-like, testing the air with his tongue.

I'm not quite sure what this look means, but it's pretty sweet.

Month 3

As much as you might like seeing pictures of the two older boys (lots of new ones below!), I'm sure that everybody wants to see pictures of "the baby," as I often call him. (I'm trying to keep him as little as possible for as long as possible!) The top photo was taken almost a month ago, and the last just last week.

Jonah often calls Iohan "Bluey," for his blue eyes. "Hey there, little Bluey, how are you, you cute little guy?" When I told Jonah that Jonah himself was born with blue eyes, but that they changed within a day, Jonah said, "Well, I just think that Iohan's eyes should stay blue forever."

This boy knows how to enjoy life. He looks like he's about to explode from happiness.

Jonah loves, loves, LOVES Iohan. I think that he wishes that he were big enough to change Io-Io's diaper, to bathe him, to carry him around. I sometimes wish that, too, sweet Jonah.

All I can see in this photo is the ears. Which doesn't make the photo any less cute, of course.

Shenanigans

A couple weeks ago, I made a "real" snowman with the boys, complete with carrot nose. In the days after we built it, Jonah has frequently requested a "snowman-nose carrot," i.e. a long carrot as opposed to baby-cut. When he was in a defiant mood a few days ago, Jonah was threatened with the loss of dessert; he didn't obey and so promptly lost his dessert. That night after dinner, as I knew would happen, Jonah complained to me that he was "still just a little more hungry." "Too bad, son," I told him. "You lost your dessert." Undetered, Jonah went to the refrigerator and helped himself to -- can you guess? -- a snowman nose carrot. He washed it off in the sink, perched on his chair and munched on it happily while Manny and I finished dinner. As I asked my husband later that night, after he returned home: What's a mother to do? Jonah was essentially eating dessert, since the carrot was an after-dinner treat, but, for heaven's sake, it was a CARROT. Why would I want to stop him from eating a vegetable? If Jonah's rebellions consist of borderline-naughty carrot-eating, well, I should just count my blessings and move on.

Another day, Jonah was resisting taking a nap, though it was obvious to me that he was tired. He came out of his room for about the third time since beginning his quiet time an hour before, unbidden. My hands busy with a kitchen task, I told him firmly that he needed to go back into his room. Pouting and whining, he did, leaving the door open and then returning to close it about a minute later. I washed my hands and opened his door, assuming that he was playing and needed to be reminded to go to sleep. To my surprise, the child was lying on his bed, blanket pulled up over him. While I was happy to see this, Jonah was not happy to see me. "No, no, no, you can't come in here!" he shouted crabbily. "Go out!" Usually I correct Jonah's tone and words when he talks like this. This time, though, after a second's hesitation, I simply turned around and closed the door behind me, shaking my head. If he was actually trying to nap, why should I disturb him? I didn't hear another noise from Jonah until he emerged from his room a couple hours later. He won that one, but so did I.

Danger!(?)

I've entered a new stage of parenting, which I think of loosely as "the danger age." Not that my children are in any imminent danger, but as they grow more independent of me and my husband and begin to pursue their own interests, they will come in contact with more danger. Or, I should say, potential danger.

The picture above is case-in-point. Manny looks down on his brother, who is playing outside by himself. Yes, at age three-and-a-half, in the big city, while I'm two storeys away. While this winter hasn't been as rough as I had anticipated that it might be, veritably trapped inside because we've got a newborn and a borderline asthmatic (not to mention the thirty minutes of bundling that stand between indoor and outdoor play here in the Midwest), it has still been long and, well, less than spectacular. (Really, though, it could've been much worse, I realize that!) Two young boys' energy threatening to explode the walls of a city apartment have made me thankful for any moments that shift that energy to another location. Because he's now nearing four and is much more capable of imaginative play (not to mention that he's become fascinated with eating snow), Jonah has come to love playing outside in the snow; he rarely wants to come inside. Manny, on the other hand, often doesn't care to play outside, which not infrequently presents me with a dilemma: Force Manny to play outside? (And what about Iohan?) Forbid Jonah to go out? My solution has been to send Jonah outside all by himself.

Coming to this point has actually been somewhat difficult. If you'd told me at the beginning of the winter that soon I'd be letting Jonah play outside with only intermittent attention, I don't know that I'd have believed you. We live in one of the nations's largest cities, where we only minimally know our neighbors and where it seems that there's an overwhelming concentration of weirdos. We live close to the intersection of a major east-west street and a busy sidestreet. While neither of my boys shows much inclination to wander, the urge could strike at any moment; very few of our neighbors would know where this random child on the sidewalk belongs. I know all of this, and the possibility of just one of these things "happening"... well, it makes me break into a sweat to even let my mind start in that direction.

At the same time, I consider other "things that could happen": Any car ride could result in a car accident, perhaps fatal. There are weirdos on the buses and trains all the time, not to mention random gun violence. While standing two feet away from me, my children could suddenly decide that the street or the tracks look like a fun place to play, or they might lean out a little too far while checking to see if the bus or train is on its way. Our own home is potentially dangerous; I've seen statistics before about how often kids are injured in their own homes in those few seconds that parents turn their backs, and they are frightening.

"The danger age" has now begun, and with it begins the weighing of "what could happen" with what my kids will gain from having some freedom (and, frankly, what I will gain from having a break). As I said above, Jonah shows no propensity to wander, and we live in one of the safest and more well-to-do neigborhoods in the city, right by a church and a school. He loves to play outside and he's proud of what he can accomplish by himself, digging in the snow or rolling snowballs. I've given Jonah the age-appropriate rules of safety and "stranger danger": Don't leave the yard; talking to a neighbor is fine, but don't go by the gate; never leave the yard with anybody besides Mama; and scream, scream, scream if anyone tries to take you (though I wonder if this last one is too scare-inducing).

In conversation with my husband, I've come to realize that I tend to assume that danger is not present unless I see actual signs of it. There is certainly a risk of becoming too lax in this view, and I've realized that I need to temper it with appropriate caution. At the same time, I can't bring myself (nor do I desire) to see danger around every corner, or to assume that my kids will be hurt or injured as soon as I look the other way. Living for two decades with a fairly adventurous father has given me a more exploratory, try-it-and-see, do-it-yourself mentality than seems prevalent in today's near-hysterical parenting world (at least the one that the media presents). I can't keep my children small forever; I can't be with them every moment of every day; I want to give them the tools and the experience to do things by and for themselves. Don't think, though, that I don't say a prayer every time I drop Jonah off in the back yard and head back up the stairs.

(Incidentally, when summer arrives, there is no way that I will leave the kids alone in the backyard with their kiddie pool. I'm far more scared of 3 inches of water than I am some alone time in a snowy yard.)

Independence

This is what independence looks like. A pickle, mustard and "cheese product" slapped on a piece of bread.

Last week, when asked what he wanted for lunch, Jonah refused to answer (not uncommon). I turned to Manny, who answered, "Mac 'n' cheese." When Jonah found out what was on the menu, though, he just about lost it; he was eating no mac 'n' cheese, thank you very much. I told him, "Fine, child, you can make your own lunch." He did. He opened the fridge, placed everything he needed on the counter and assembled the sandwich himself, then ate it happily. (Unfortunately, we were out of both deli turkey and hamburger pickles, so Jonah was stuck with a meatless, pickle-speared sandwich.) While I don't want my child eating pickle and cheese product sandwich every day, there is something amazing and satisfying in seeing him do something all by himself. Jonah was at least a little proud of himself, too, I think. He still relies on me so much and is sometimes a real "Mama's boy," crying when I leave the house to go to the YMCA or run an errand without him. Insignificant though it may seem, Jonah making his own sandwich is one of the ways in which I see him becoming his own little man, separating himself from me and from complete dependence. Bittersweet, it's true, but necessary and important. And, really, there wasn't any mac 'n' cheese left by the time Manny was done with it, so it was a good thing that Jonah had another plan in motion.

Building boom

Jonah's been experimenting with architecture lately. Pop-Pop received a door as payment for removing it, and he cut it up into these blocks as a Christmas gift for the boys, per my request. Since Jonah's life virtually centers around his train table ("Best $30 we ever spent," I thought today), his block-building activities do, too. If I had a dollar for every time that he begged me, "Mama, come look at what I'm making!", I could hire that maid I've had my eye on...



An ice cream factory. Quite a majestic building with all those columns and that height, if you ask me.













This might be "the wash-down" (that's certainly some lingo from "Thomas the Tank Engine," though I'm not entirely sure, as I don't actually watch shows with my kids). What I think is interesting is the second horizontal layer, which has to be balanced by the offset first horizontal layer. It's exciting to see Jonah's skill and reasoning develop to make an overpass like this.

The sheds for the engines, plus some sort of skyscraper. Plus, I think Manny looks really cute in this picture.

Sir Topham Hatt looks out proudly from his custom-made office building. I can tell that my kid is a city kid when his office is a skyscraper.

So proud!

Pretty, pretty... what?

The day Iohan wore this outfit, our priest seemed to get a case of the giggles when he saw Iohan at the chalice. Then, Jonah said that Iohan looked like a princess. Yup, that's right, a prinCESS.


See? Atop his head sits a crown...








...and down here is a dress. (When he said that, Jonah tried to fluff the skirt out a bit.) Makes sense, right?

Apparently Iohan is not convinced either.

First snow

The same day that we met Santa was also the day of our first snow. Jonah loved walking in it, pretending that we were in a fierce snow storm (the snow didn't even stick, porr deluded child). He kept telling me throughout his walk that his dog pal Whiffy was at home, reading a book called "Jonah, Mama, Manny and Iohan and the Snow Storm." An exciting read, to be sure!

Looking over my shoulder just now, Jonah just said, "Ooooh, look, it's the snowstorm!" Now Manny thinks that it's a snowstorm, too.

Three years, three wheels

You'd never guess from the picture above that Jonah is actually very excited to be on his tricycle. He didn't even really mind wearing the knee- and wrist-guards. I had, however, put them on a little too tight (sorry, buddy), and I think that his enthusiasm for the Thomas the Tank Engine-themed safety gear had reached its end. Photos like this make me want to throw in the towel on all this safety stuff. I'm sure that I never wore so much as a helmet before I was an adolescent, and I made it thru my childhood years with nary a broken bone and a fairly reasonable number of stitches. A couple things do keep my disdain of the virtual bubble wrap in check, though: One is the ever-present "what if?" question, accompanied by the memory of my husband's bad (when it could've been truly terrible) bike accident a couple years ago; the other is the disapproving stares (real or imagined, I'm never sure) from other parents that would come my way if I were to risk my child's well-being. The first consideration certainly reigns more strongly than the second, and for that reason, we may never see Jonah without a helmet. Really, though, I'm thinking that the other gear may be a bit much.

This video is about a month old. Jonah's really improved since then, despite the fact that his trike-riding is largely limited to the brief minutes he spends on it in the basement when he heads down to switch the laundry with me. Jonah knows how to make good use of his time, it seems.

Happy Birthday, J-Bird!

I still can't decide if it's hard to believe or not: It's been three years since Jonah rocketed into the world, 3 minutes till midnight on July 4, our "joke" due date. ('Cuz who ever thinks that their first child, a boy, will be born 11 days before his due date, on a holiday? It was a joke 'round our place, evidenced by the fact that my hospital bag was only half packed.) I say that I can't decide because it seems like there was hardly a time before there was Jonah in Gabriel and my married life, though I do have fond memories of our dating, engaged and married life, all not-quite 3 years of it, before Jonah was born. At any rate, it's been three years of the child known variously as "Jonah-Bean," "The Jonah Owl," "Senor Impaciente," "Mr. Poop," which morphed into "Mr. Poo," and , currently, "Little Bear" or "J-Bird". Considering my pregnancy, the extent of our summer travels and the fact that it still sort of seems to me that we "just moved," we opted for a lower-key celebration this year, inviting just a few mom-friends and their offspring over to our place for play, lunch and cake. The party managed to be fun without being crazy (at least that's my interpretation of it), and Jonah thoroughly enjoyed himself. That's the important thing, right?

(You wouldn't know it from the photos below, but we had eight children and five mamas in the house. Clearly, I should've designated picture-taking. Also, the darkish quality of the first few pictures is due to the fact that Gabriel bought me a spectacular new camera for Christmas, but I often forget that I need to switch the setting from outdoor to indoor. Also, there's something called a "flash" that really brightens things up. Who knew?)

I made Jonah a construction sign / dump truck cake, chocolate inside (from Christopher Kimball's "The Cook's Bible"), cream cheese frosting (Betty Crocker cookbook). It was a really good cake. Jonah was a bit perturbed that I put his dump truck out of commission for an evening and a day, but I do think that he forgave me. It's not for nothing that we call him "Jonah the Merciful." I made the mistake of telling Jonah to smile. Yup, that's a camera-worthy smile, not a grimace of pain. It took long enough for him to blow out the candles that I actually got a picture of it. Maybe that's why no one else ate the cake?

Jonah was able to choose his birthday breakfast on July 4. He chose French toast, which surprisingly won out over pancakes. Jonah loves to help me in the kitchen. "Help," of course, is a relative term, but I do like to have him with me. Look, he's mixing the egg mix with all my measuring spoons. Hey, whatever's handy!

Happy 3rd Birthday, Jonah! You are our little sweetie, and we love you dearly.