Snapshot

It's been a long time since I've had a chance to sit down a write -- maybe it's this seemingly endless Minnesota winter, or perhaps the year of the wedding has finally caught up with me, but I've been coming home at night feeling exhausted. I seem lose steam at this dark and cold time of year, so all non-essential tasks get completely ignored (which is why I haven't bothered to vacuum my living room for the last month, either). I can barely stay awake past 9:30 at night, and I think I'm done apologizing for it. Here's a snapshot of the last few months, though, just to bring all eight of my readers up to speed:

1. The year of the wedding concluded in December with the hip nuptials of my sister-in-law, Molly, and her husband, John. I say "hip" because they said their tear-jerking vows in one of the swankiest bars in town. The signature cocktails were strong, the food (prepared by one of the most notable chefs in Minneapolis) was delish, and the bride and groom looked gorgeous. The boys fulfilled their duties as ring bearers with natural aplomb, plus they looked darn cute in their mini-tuxes and checkered shoes.







2. Will lost his first baby tooth in December. The tooth fairy left him a five dollar bill. That's one generous imaginary character.

3. Speaking of generous imaginary characters ... Christmas seems to be a distant memory now, but since Santa delivered Nintendo DS hand-held video game systems to the boys, we're feeling the holiday's lasting effects well into February. The boys love them, and they would play on them for hours if we let them. While I'm not totally against video games (I am a child of the eighties after all, and like most kids, I loved my Nintendo, Super Mario Brothers and Tetris), I sceptically agreed to let Santa deliver the DSs. Pediatricians warn that video games are generally "bad" for kids; I'm not willing to dive into that discussion just yet, but I agree that too much "screen" time and not enough outdoor time make for lazy, cranky kids. So far, we've struck a decent balance, and we've found that the DSs are highly effective tools in the areas of discipline and bribery.

4. Our 2010 Christmas card:



5. During a long weekend in January, we took the boys to Cedar Lake for a few days of winter fun. This trip brought a few firsts for the boys including ice fishing and driving out on the frozen lake. These were firsts for me, too. My dad and I drove out to the ice house together, and as I got into his half-ton truck, I instinctively started to put on my seat belt. Dad smirked: "I wouldn't do that if I were you, just in case we have to make a quick exit. Oh, and you may want to roll down the window, too." Are. You. Kidding. Me?

6. Did I mention the boys have started reading? Like, really reading? We've been working on Dr. Seuss' "Hop on Pop," among other short stories. Insane, right?

7. It was 50 degrees a week ago. On Sunday, we received another foot of snow. Mother Nature is kind of a moody bitch, no?

8. This last weekend, in the span of twelve hours, I put a huge dent in the side of my car (I had an unfortunate run-in with an icy snow pile) and I sliced off a chunk of my thumb while wrapping a print at the gallery. The latter incident provided me with just enough husband sympathy to almost cancel out his anger about the former incident. (In the nearly seven years we've owned that car, it has been scraped up at least four times, and sadly, I was the one driving it in each case. I've never caused a traffic accident, thank goodness, I just can't seem to back the damn thing up without hitting something. I think it has bad sight lines; Pat claims I don't know how to use the mirrors. All of this would be almost comical if it wasn't so freakin' expensive to deal with my little fender benders. New Year's Resolution #854: learn to use the mirrors.)

9. Owen lost his first baby tooth today and then promptly (albeit accidentally) dropped it down the bathroom sink. Owen was in tears: "Now the Tooth Fairy won't come!! What are we gonna do?!" Luckily, he didn't run any water down the drain, so Pat was able to dismantle the trap and rescue the tooth. Somewhat related aside: I read a great article in the Sunday paper by single mom Mollie Guthrey, and she wrote about how important it is to recognize the huge number of things we parents manage to accomplish in one day. I was thinking of that this morning. I realized that, by 9 a.m., I had accomplished the following: a load of laundry, emptied the dishwasher, made Will's lunch, made three phone calls to make arrangements for keeping sick Owen home from school today, delivered Will to the bus stop, pulled a tooth out of Owen's mouth and helped resolve a mini-crisis when said tooth went down the drain. All that in just the first few hours in my day. No wonder I'm so tired at night.

To Owen Michael, On Your 6th Birthday

Dear Owen,

Every year, when we lug the large bins of Christmas decorations up from the basement, you can hardly wait to unwrap all the ornaments, trinkets, the tree for your room and the special holiday story books we keep tucked away until December. One of your favorite items is a picture frame decorated with candy canes that reads “My First Christmas.” The frame holds one of my favorite photos of you and Will when you were barely a week old, snuggling together in your crib. I vividly remember the moment your dad snapped that picture – I don’t think I had been out of my pajamas since you came home from the hospital; I was exhausted from sleep deprivation and sore from nursing. But I was so happy, too. Happy to be your mom, happy you were healthy, happy that we’d made it a whole week without damaging you or your brother in any way (yet)!



I was reminded of this same moment a few months ago. Your dad and I were getting ready for bed, and as always, I crept into your dark room to kiss you and Will one more time before I went to sleep. Imagine my brief moment of sheer panic when I discovered you were not in your bed! You had crawled in your brother’s bed, and the two of you were sleeping soundly together. I wasn’t sure what had prompted your move – a bad dream, perhaps? – but, again, I felt so happy. Happy to be your mom, happy to have witnessed such a precious moment, happy to have survived parenthood for nearly six years. And even happier knowing you and William will always have each other when the bad dreams strike.



This was another big year for you, Owen, and more often than not, you confidently barreled through milestones. Mother’s Day was a beautiful spring day, and for some reason, on that day, you were determined to remove the training wheels from your two-wheeler. You deemed yourself ready to ride your bike without any help, and I tried for TWO HOURS to talk you out of your seemingly dangerous stunt. (By then, of course, you had Will on board with the same plan, and I was considering calling the United Hospital ER just to warn them we might have to make a trip downtown to see a doctor that day.) You whined, pleaded and assured your dad and me that you could definitely ride the bike on your own. We finally agreed to remove them, and what do you know? You rode that bike perfectly on the first try! William did the same, and by the end of the day, you were doing figure eights in the driveway. (Braking was another issue, but one thing at a time, right?) This kind of scenario repeated itself in many forms over the last year: you decided to swim in the middle of Cedar Lake without your life-vest; you decided to learn to throw, catch and hit a baseball; you wanted to crack an egg into cookie dough batter and you poured yourself a glass of milk from a full gallon jug. These may seem like minor developmental steps to you, but for me, they define your astounding determination and your admirable ability to focus on your goals, even at your young age.

Look Ma, No Training Wheels! from Nicole Watson on Vimeo.

Owen, Kindergarten has become a grand adventure for you – and not just because you like hot lunch and playing dodge ball. You seem to genuinely enjoy your lessons, too. At the beginning of the school year, your teacher asked you what you hoped to learn in kindergarten, and you had one, clear answer: you wanted to learn to read. You really care about making progress in your reading, and Mrs. Dill tells me you work hard (to the point of being a bit of a perfectionist) at writing letters and reading words. You are picking up reading very fast, and we’re amazed at the short stories you have been able to read to us over the last month. You even wrote your own “book” earlier this fall, and Mrs. Dill read it to your class. You were so proud of yourself!

Owen, words can’t express how proud I am of you. Last year, in preschool, you struggled to engage in classroom projects – but this year, you seem to thirst for new words, new numbers and new ideas. It is thrilling for me, as your mom, to witness your excitement about what you’re learning. I’m actually looking forward to the day when I can scold you for reading late into the night, under your bed covers, with a flash light.



A list of your favorites:

Favorite song: "Small Town" by Aaron Espe
Favorite television shows: Dinosaur Train and Home Alone 2
Favorite books: The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein (remains a favorite) and How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss
Favorite activities: riding your bike, swimming, playing baseball, trading Silly Bands with friends
Favorite foods: steak, Gogurt, pears … and believe it or not, salad!

Happy birthday, dear son of mine.

Love,
Mom

To William Thomas, On Your 6th Birthday

Dear William,

When I sit down to compose these letters to you and your brother, I feel stunned by how fast the year has gone. Other parents have told me that as you get older, the months will zip by me at warp speed – and it is true. I find myself feeling bewildered by your six years and all the growing-up you seemed to have done in the last year alone. We took the training wheels off your bike last spring, you swam without a life-jacket last summer and a week ago, you read an entire sentence to your dad at the breakfast table. Every time you hit a milestone, my heart is filled with so much love and so much pride, I feel like it will burst. (This feeling balances out the days when we might not like each other so much, like the day last week when I took away your brand new Zhu Zhu pet as a punishment for sassing me. But that’s in the past now, right?)

Over the last year, we’ve discovered great friends in our neighborhood – you and Owen have spent a lot of time playing with Roman, Lily, Simi and Maggie. We’re lucky that all of our back yards are connected, so we parents can give all of you kids a little freedom to play outside on your own. What this means, of course, is that I have become familiar with your friends, just as other parents are getting to know you and Owen. At Norm and Ginny’s annual fish fry last August, Maggie’s mom and dad were telling us how delighted they were by your boyness. Will, you really are a “boy’s boy,” meaning, quite simply, that you uphold all the stereotypes associated with little boys. During the warmer months last year, you often rode your bike between our house and Maggie’s yard, wearing your helmet, your camouflaged rain boots, and a mismatched outfit of mesh shorts and a muscle-man t-shirt, with a plastic play sword tucked into the back of the neck opening. You were usually muddy and probably sweaty, and you often rode your bike one-handed because you had a garden toad tucked into your other hand. I delight in the qualities of your boyness, too, mostly because I think it reveals everything wonderful that makes you YOU: your curiosity, your lively imagination and your love for the outdoors.



In September, you and Owen started Kindergarten, and your dad and I requested that the two of you be placed in separate classes. I agonized with this decision for months, and I fretted about the possible negative affects it could have on your foray into elementary school. However, just as so many times before, both you and Owen surprised me with your adaptability during what I expected to be a difficult transition. You were both fine, of course, and I realized that by giving you different worlds during the day, your individual interests became clearer to me. For instance, you absolutely love music. Mrs. Peterson’s music class is one of your favorites in school, and every week you fill the house with your sweet voice, singing all the songs you learned during her classes. One of my favorites was a little ditty about thankfulness:

ThankFUL, thaaaaaaank-ful!
I’m thankful in the morning,
thankful at the noon-time,
I’m thankful when the sun goes doooowwwwwwn!

I catch you humming and singing throughout the day, especially when you are alone in the tub! You can actually carry a tune, too, which makes me hopeful that someone in our family will be a singer (I always wished I had a better singing voice).



Finally, Will, I want you know how much I adore your loving personality. You still like to sit on my lap when we read stories at bedtime and you often hold my hand on our walks to school. A couple of months ago, we were having a hurried morning – Dad was out of town for work, and I was trying to juggle making lunches, making breakfast and tracking down clean clothes for the day. You woke up that morning, dizzied by my flurry, and you kept asking me for “a snuggle.” You followed me around with your blanket, patiently waiting for me to sit down with you for “just a minute.” We never did get around to it that morning, and after you left for school, I realized how disappointed I was that I didn’t take you up on your request. Because I know that someday, in the not-too-distant future, you’ll want no part of me in the mornings; you won’t want me to hold your hand on the way to school and you’ll likely read books to yourself at bedtime. That day I promised myself I would always make time to snuggle with you, let you sit in my lap with your blanket, and savor the stillness of dawn before the day becomes heavy with obligations.



Last but not least, a current list of your favorites:

Favorite song: “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eye Peas, “Hey Ya” by Outkast
Favorite television shows: Avatar, The Last Airbender and Dinosaur Train
Favorite books: Drummer Boy by Loren Long and Alexander and the Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst
Favorite activities: playing Legos, riding your bike, swimming, playing baseball
Favorite foods: PB and honey sandwhiches, pears, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, tacos

Happy birthday, my darling boy!

Love,
Mom

The Bawler

Last weekend marked wedding number two for my family this year. My sister Emily married her very own Mr. Darcy on what had to have been one of the most stunning fall days on record here in Minnesota.



I was Emily's "Matron" of Honor. (I'm sorry, but the word "matron" sort of sucks. I mean, why not just call me "Old Lady of Honor" or "Woman with Child-bearing Hips of Honor?" It all sounds the same to me.) Despite the title, however, I was thrilled -- THRILLED -- to be standing up for Emily, with a first-class view of her nuptials and a whole weekend of festivities celebrating my amazing sister and her equally amazing new husband.



Part of my job description (along with holding up the train of Emily's dress and signing the marriage license) included giving a toast at the reception. I wrote the toast months ago, hoping that if I practiced it enough, I wouldn't cry my eyes out while speaking in front of 200 people. No such luck. I bawled through my entire toast, to a point where I can't really remember if I said everything I wanted to say or made any sense at all. (Before the wedding began, my sister-in-law told me that if I felt tears coming on, I should clench my butt cheeks -- and I clenched with all my might, but to no avail. Apparently I can cry and clench at the same time.) I truly felt bad that my practical and rarely over-sentimental sister had to listen to me sob my way through my toast. I have spoken in front of large crowds before, and I know you should always address your audience, but the moment I stood up, I could only look at Emily, and her eyes were already glassy. I knew right then that there was no way I was going to make it through my toast without my mascara running.



After dinner, several of the wedding guests approached me and told me how much they liked my speech. I appreciated their compliments, but I figured they were fibbing, just a little, to make me feel less embarrassed about my over-the-top display of affection. One of Mathew's relatives, an older gentleman with a kind face (perhaps his grandpa?) patted me on the shoulder and told me that he could see how much I loved my sister, and that he was proud of me for loving her so openly. I decided that he was right: I shouldn't be ashamed of wearing my heart on my sleeve, especially if it shows the world how much I love my family.

So, here's the toast for posterity's sake. Or in case any of you are wondering what I was trying to say between the sobs.

In my kitchen, on the window sill over the sink, sits a picture frame that holds one of my favorite images of Emily and me. The photo was taken in 1984 when I was about five, and Emily was three. We were standing outside on a bright, winter day, wearing our big floppy hats. We were shoulder to shoulder, and grinning ear to ear. Every time I look at that photo, I feel nothing but pure joy – joy in a happy moment I can’t quite remember, joy in our chubby, rosy cheeks, but most of all, joy in a friendship and closeness that continues to exist today.

Like most sisters, I’m sure Emily and I have had our moments of disagreement – Mom would probably tell you that high school was one big argument – but really, I mostly only ever remember the joy. And I think the reason for that is this: the disagreements were never about important things. The joy, on the other hand, came from our mutual respect for each other, our trust in one another, and our ability to forgive one another, especially when I borrowed that favorite sweater or pair of shoes without asking. The joy has always come from our genuine efforts to be kind to each other. Mathew, it is because of this kind of joy that I know Emily will be a wonderful partner for you.

Emily, as your older sister, here is the part where I give you and Mathew some unsolicited advice. I’ve only been married about eight years now, but even in that relatively short time, I’ve learned a little something about joy. If you look for it every day, in each other, you’ll never be disappointed.

Please raise your glasses to my beautiful sister, Emily, and her new husband, Mathew, and a marriage filled with joy!

The Day My Five-Year-Old Kicked My Ass

Let me just begin by saying that there have been many days my kids have kicked my ass -- days where I'm so exhausted by 5 p.m. that I'm useless for just about anything that doesn't involve me sitting down with a glass of wine. You parents know what I'm talking about: those days when your children are so naughty or hyper or chatty or insert any number of slightly annoying habits here and multiply it by all the regular obligations in your life (work, laundry, cooking, retrieving that tiny Lego piece from the vacuum hose). If you're a parent, you've had your ass kicked, end of story.

But this ass-kicking was a little less ordinary. By this I mean that I ended up with a bloody and fat lip.

Here's the deal: this new schedule of school at 7:45 a.m. followed by after school care until 5 p.m. makes for a very, very long day for five-year-olds. By dinner time, they are tired, hungry, over-stimulated and just generally pissed off. And with Pat out of town last week, I wasn't able to retrieve the boys until closer to 5:30 p.m., and that extra half hour really put them over the edge. On Tuesday night, Owen just couldn't hold himself together any longer and he threw a massive temper tantrum. His meltdown began at dinner, when he found out that I wasn't able to join him at his field trip to the nature center the following day. I explained to him that unfortunately, his field trip was taking place during gallery hours, and since my boss is out of town, I had to be at work. His face crumpled and he shouted, "but all the other parents are going!" A tiny part of me felt guilty for being a working mom. And based on the display my son was giving me, I felt even more guilty because a bigger part of was relieved that I do have a job to go to every day where no one yells at me for things that are out of my control.

Owen totally fell apart, and as typical of a tantrum, his displeasure spiraled and suddenly he was screaming about everything that was annoying him that day: the fact that his brother found an old toy on the playground that day (and Owen didn't), that he hated his jeans and why did I pick him up so late from after school care?

Normally I tend to raise my voice during these bouts of kid-craze, but I think I was just too tired to do so that night. Because I, too, had a long day at work, and I, too, felt over-tired. So I stayed calm, asked him to calm down, and informed him that it was time for bed. Only sleep was going transform this monster back into his normal, sweet little-boy self.

"WITHOUT DESSERT? WITHOUT WATCHING 'TOONS?!!"

Whooooooo-boy. Did he fly off the handle then.

He dropped himself into a heap on the floor, kicking and screaming. By this time, Will had slunk into the living room, trying to avoid the inevitable hurricane of Owen's anger. Still remaining calm, I picked Owen up off the floor, carried him to his room, and attempted to place him on his bed. In doing so, he threw his head back, cracking my chin with what felt like the force of a freight train. The pain was dizzying, and my mouth filled with blood.

Then I was crying because I was freaked out by the blood and pain, and Owen was crying and apologizing, and though the whole thing was just an accident, I felt totally defeated. I called my mother, who arrived five minutes later. While I held ice cubes to my swollen lip, she put the boys to bed, cleaned the dinner dishes and called my sister, who works as a P.A. at the United Hospital E.R. As it turns out, I did not need a stitch for the cut inside my lip (caused by my own teeth, of course), and as I predicted, Owen was exhausted. He fell asleep before my lip stopped bleeding.

So, I think Owen and I both learned valuable lessons. He learned that it is important to calm down in a situation like that, because he could inadvertently injure himself or others. I learned that I need to walk away in a situation like that, because nothing good can come of me trying to pick up my sons when their bodies are flailing. It's the end of an era! Physical restraint is no longer an option.

Parent-Teacher Communication

On Owen's third day of school, we received this email from his Kindergarten teacher:

We've had a great start to our Kindergarten year and Owen is doing just great. I just wanted to alert you that today he fell asleep during our body break time, and slept for nearly an hour. This is not uncommon here, but I do like to let parents know when this happens. Hopefully this won't be a problem at bedtime for you!

If I laid down for fifteen minutes in a semi-dark room, I'd fall asleep, too!

Kindergarten

Yesterday was the first day of kindergarten for Will and Owen. Here's the obligatory first day photo, complete with our stoic Sonja-dog:



OK. First of all? Look at their knobby knees, which seem to be inexplicably reaching their elbows. And what happened to their chubby little faces? I swear, you can HEAR them growing. Compare the above photo with last year's first day of school picture:



The difference is startling, isn't it?

Somerset Elementary starts its day at 7:45 a.m., so the fact that the boys are clean, dressed, breakfasted and STILL smiling is nothing short of a miracle. We Watsons were of the slow-moving morning variety -- we used to lounge in our pjs until 7:30 or 8 a.m., we usually ate breakfast together and there was plenty of time to do a load of laundry in case someone was missing a sock or favorite t-shirt. Those days are SO OVER.



The boys are in different classes this year, the effects of which are not yet apparent. That fact didn't seem to damper their excitement, though Owen did shed a few tears on the way into school yesterday. Luckily, I held myself together, and even more luckily, Mrs. Peterson, the music teacher at Somerset, marched over to Owen, introduced herself and took him by the hand. She asked Owen if he wouldn't mind walking her into school, and he seemed relieved to be asked. Will seemed to be all right, though he has a neighborhood friend in his class, which brought him a great deal of comfort, I suspect.

Both boys waved to Pat and I as they walked into that seemingly big, brick school, and I felt an unsteady concoction of joy, relief, anxiety, excitement and plain old fear. I don't want to be overly sentimental, but it occurred to me that their first day of kindergarten is over ... there will never be another first day of kindergarten (we hope). As parents, we work hard to arrive at moments like these with pride and grace, and while I am thrilled that we've come this far, I'm also grieving the end of so many other firsts. I'm hoping that I paused long enough along the way to relish all of my sons' milestones.