Tales from the Sandbox

We took advantage of the recent 3-day weekend to build a sandbox, our first. After spending over an hour wandering around Menards, we loaded up the van with two very long boards and 500 pounds of sand. (And, on a side note, it seriously should not be so difficult to buy boards! We ended up going out into the lumber yard ourselves -- pushing the kids in a cart no less -- to find the size we needed. Shouldn’t there just be a master price list somewhere? Anyway.)

The construction went amazingly well. I can say this because Jon was in charge, including the part where he got out a pickax to level the spot of yard we’d chosen to host our new addition. Owen was hovering around the whole time, inquiring when it would be ready. As soon as it was done (and a few times before it was done), he jumped in. Our fearless Nora, surprisingly, took a little coaxing. But she too, quickly caught on, and before we knew it, was piling sand into a bucket while Owen served us sand “pizza.”

Watching the kids play in this little sanctuary of dirt made me think back to my own sandbox days. Growing up in the middle of sand country, we had huge piles of it on our property. That, in addition to a sand "box” that was made from a large tractor tire. My brother and I spent hours playing in the sand. It was our playground, our place to create and destroy whatever we wanted.

Seeing Owen and Nora immediately take to the sand confirms the tight association between childhood and sandboxes. Swings, crayons, sandboxes -- these are all metaphoric stand-ins for youth. A sandbox is limitless possibilities. It's the outdoor equivalent of Play-doh. It comes in a blob, but then you make it into whatever you want.

Now that I'm on the other side of that generational arc, I’m loving what this simple wooden perimeter provides ME. Namely, the ability to get in a little planting, weeding, watering and relaxing without having to chase after the kids every 5 minutes as they run down the driveway toward the street. I'm also realizing that one thing I never noticed as a kid was how much sand gets tracked into the house.

Ah, childhood.

A Wonderful Thing

Oh, hello, spring! Where have you been?


How I've missed you.

Why Buy Toys?

When an old carseat and some miscellaneous stuff on the porch will do?

Strike!

Did you know they grease the lanes at bowling alleys? Well, I didn't. But I do now.

We went bowling today since it was a bit cold and rainy for our traditional Mother's Day trip to the zoo. Nora was giving it a whirl with a 5-pound ball, and, at one point, decided to toss her ball down the lane next to ours. It kinda just plopped in the gutter and started slowly rolling away. And so, naturally, I went after it. Ran after it, actually. And promptly fell right on my behind. Oh, the humanity.

So there I am, laying on the lane, Nora's crying because the whole thing (understandably) freaked her out, and I didn't even come close to rescuing her ball.

Banged up my elbow a bit. Though I think my pride suffered the worst bruise. I think if I tagged my blog entries, I'd need to start a new category for "I'm such a dork."

The One without the Birthday Party

Some of you may have heard about Owen's best friend, Matthew. He and Owen met in their 4-year-old kindergarten class this year and have been best buds for most of the year. They're in the after-school program together besides, so that has only cemented their friendship. Owen named his birthday turtle after Matthew, he likes taking cold lunch because Matthew does, and Matthew's name was one of the first names other than his own that Owen learned how to spell.

Matthew's birthday is coming up, June 10, and we've been hearing about it for several weeks now. It's on our calendar at home, and the other night, Owen said he wanted to take the paper crown he got at school for his birthday and erase his name and write in Matthew's and then give it to him, because "Matthew likes the crown."

So, we got the invitation to Matthew's birthday party this week...and Owen can't go. I knew the moment I looked at the date that there was a problem, and I checked our calendar hoping that maybe I was wrong, but no. We have an out-of-town wedding that day. I swear, I almost cried.

One of the (many) difficult things about parenting is not transferring our adult emotions onto our children's situations. Although I KNOW Owen will be disappointed and sad about the party, he'll get over it. Much more quickly than, say, I would get over missing an important friend's gathering that I'd been looking forward to for weeks. I have to remember that I felt similar guilt and sadness when we decided to send Owen to his current school, which meant he wouldn't see his best friend from daycare, Valentine, in the center's after-school program. I have to remember that kid friendships, especially those of 4- and 5-year-olds, are much different than adult friendships.

We occasionally see Valentine now when Owen and I pick up Nora from daycare, and they barely give each other a second glance. This is much different than, say, how I react when I see a friend I haven't seen in awhile. This typically involves hugs and giggling, and sometimes Orange Dream and crafts. :)

Matthew and Owen at Owen's birthday party:

Two. Two!!

Two. Two!!

I can hardly even believe that my baby turns 2 today. It doesn’t seem that long ago that the doctor put you into my arms with the declaration, “it’s a girl!”

I had to look back at my first-year calendar to remember what you were doing – or more accurately, not doing – one year ago. Because it seems like EVERYTHING has changed.

Among the things I noted last year for the month of May: You discovered the cat door that goes into the basement stairway...you had five teeth...you would dip the handle end of a spoon into food...you ate your first hot dog...you loved playing peekaboo, but would sometimes miss your eyes and cover up the sides of your head instead.

Now you're more interested in chasing the cats...you have 16 teeth...you've pretty much mastered the utensils...you prefer a good turkey kielbasa to hot dogs...but you still love playing peekaboo.



Back then, you were crawling around on all fours. I remember picking you up from day care and you'd crawl over to me so fast and then pull yourself up around my shins. Now, you run. In fact, you are little dynamo. The other night, on the way home from the park, Owen took off in a dash to the house and you wanted to follow, but not before taking a moment to stop, remove your mittens and hand them to me before taking off running again. Apparently, the mittens were slowing you down.

You attack life with so much energy. I just love watching you bolt around the house. You get an idea in your head that you want x from the other room and off you go, running to get it, often with a soundtrack of excited babbles. Sometimes you take a turn a bit too fast, which results in a spill. But most of the time, you hop right back up, your eyes on your goal. This energy and fearlessness has a downside, though, because you'll also disappear from our sight in a second in a store or in the backyard, and you think nothing of attempting to walk down the stairs solo if we're not at your side fast enough.


I still have such a vivid memory of your first “real” steps. It happened while we were on vacation in Wisconsin Dells last August, and one night, you joyfully walked the long span between Jon and I in the living room. And then you did it again and again. You were so proud of yourself, and clutching your blanket along the way.



You and Owen have really fallen into the role of siblings, complete with the all the rivalry. I suppose it only makes sense among siblings that love and admiration mix up with competition and control in a way that make the two of you go from best friends one minute to adversaries the next. But oh, how you do look up to your big brother and want to follow him around and do whatever he does. And he loves playing with you, too. Some of my favorite moments are watching the two of you interact. You respond to him in a much different way than to us. Sometimes, you have no interest in holding Mommy's hand in the store, but you'll quickly hold Owen's if he asks.



You've started being more in tune with your surroundings. You notice if someone gets hurt and ask if they're OK. And if someone says "ouch" you often follow with a "sah-we," even though you had nothing to do with it. You love giving away kisses, pursing up your lips so big there's no way anyone could resist.

Your language has progressed so much, I can't even believe it. It seems like you're saying more and more every day. You can repeat just about any word we (or, more likely, Owen ) throw at you. In fact, he gets a kick out of testing you by asking you to repeat words. Sometimes, you'll repeat our "I wuv you," which just melts my heart. You're mostly able to communicate what you want, even if only WE understand that "bay" is bread and "ah-saws" is applesauce. You're pretty good at saying "Nooooo," too.

You love your books, which you'll pile around yourself, and babies, which you'll strip naked. Your laugh is so wonderful. I loving smothering you with kisses and nuzzles and seeing your eyes get all crinkled and smiley and you laughing so big. You are such a happy girl. You can be almost completely asleep when we bring you down for breakfast and set you in your chair at the table and within 2 minutes you've perked up, are asking for milk and are babbling away. Some mornings (and nights) I hear you awake in your crib, singing to yourself or contentedly "reading" a book. Your temper definitely has started to show itself, but you usually recover very quickly. You'll stomp off in disgust at something, but come back 45 seconds later. I hope that lasts.



I love the girl you're becoming. I love the girl you are. My sweet little 2-year-old, Nora. I can't imagine my life without you. Happy Birthday.

Count von Count

So, Nora has started counting. Or at least making attempts at counting. I doubt she has any concept what it means, but it is pretty cute. Tonight at supper, 1-10 went something like this: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 14, boop, baa!" Course, you have to imagine these in the toddler accent of "twee, foe, fie..." Not sure how the 14 got in there. Probably the result of having an older brother who is an incessant counter.

We're heading up to my parents' house for the weekend, celebrating a dual birthday party tomorrow -- Nora turns 2 on Sunday, and my mom will be 60 on Tuesday. It'll be fun (and even better that I'm not cooking or cleaning for a party). I asked Owen if he wanted to give his sister a present, and he suggested balloons, which, oddly, are HIS favorite, too. Hmmm.