How did you get to be 5?!

For Nora's birthday last year, we were in Florida and I didn't do a birthday post. I remember thinking, though, that 4 was the year she became a little girl. A year later, I have a correction: 5 is the year she grew into a little girl.

For starters, when did you stop being small? You've always been on the bottom half of the height curve, but somewhere in there you grew. You're now 42.5 inches tall, which is only a few inches shorter than Owen was at this age -- and he's both big and a boy. I only recently realized this, when I bought some size 5 clothes thinking you'd grow into them and the shirts were already too short.

The biggest change of the past year is that you started all-day 4-year-old kindergarten. That first morning went well...until it was time to actually go inside the school. You cried and clung to my side, and the teacher had to pull you through the door, as you sobbed and reached out to me. If I hadn't been through this once before, I'm pretty sure I would have grabbed you back and hugged you tight -- and perhaps run away from there with you, never to return -- but I knew your teacher was kind and loving, and that you'd be OK. And guess what? You were. After that initial rough morning, you never cried again, and by the end of the first week, you told us that you loved school.

And you've taken to school really well. (Be forewarned: here's the part where I brag.) You are so damn smart. You quickly learned to count to 30, and then became one of the first kids in your class who could count to 100. You draw so well that when I pick up drawings from around the house, I sometimes mistake your work for Owen's. You're learning all of the "sight words" from class and really want to know more. You've started bringing home early reader books, and you whiz through them. I love that sometimes when we read books together, you are curious about the words you don't know and want me to tell you what they are so you can then read them yourself.

So far, you show all the indications that you'll be my reading girl. You've always been the one who will settle in on the couch with a stack of books and quietly look at them yourself. After our bedtime reading, I often overhear you "re-reading" the book, coming up with the words by mixing memory with what you see in the pictures.

You are so observant and always thinking. And you love playing pretend. You come up with scenarios to act out, and assign roles to your big brother or any other willing bystander. The other night, we were a family of lions whose house was under the dining room table. We took a chair bus to Grandma and Grandpa's house, but then had to quickly leave, since a tornado was on the way. I can tell that your mind still often works faster than your mouth can succinctly express, but we know better than to interrupt or try to help, lest we be treated to your trademark "the glare" or perhaps off-shoot, "the stomp."

One of your favorite pretend games is playing The Chipmunks. Jon usually is Simon (because he has glasses, of course), Owen is Alvin and I'm either Eleanor or Britney, depending on who you've chosen to be -- because you like for me and you to be sisters. Britney also is your go-to name for new toys. There's a stuffed cat named Britney, a mermaid doll named Britney and the new pillow pet you got for your birthday also became Britney.

Your smile lights up everything around you. Your eyes crinkle up and your mouth widens into a huge grin. And your laugh is contagious. You scowl with equal enthusiasm, and you continue to be able to swing between those two emotions in the blink of an eye. You're a shy girl, in many ways, and really don't like anyone talking about you (you'd hate this blog). If it's just the family, you'll let us know your displeasure, but if it's, say, the woman at the hair salon going on and on about your red hair, you just get really quiet. But I know you're stewing in there.

I'm definitely noticing some stereotypical girl traits coming out. You're very in tune with the emotions around you. And you notice things, whether it's a scraped elbow or that mommy has a new bag or pair of shoes (which makes it difficult for me to shrug off such purchases, by the way). You're often able to locate the exact toy you're looking for -- digging deep into a toy bin and emerging with your target, and you're a reliable source of information when it comes to remembering where you took off your shoes the night before, or whether you have homework.

I also recently got a taste for the "drama" that no doubt lies ahead. Assigned to chaperone a group that included you and your two best friends, I expected a carefree day. Instead, it was a stew of ever-changing emotions, mostly surrounding hurt feelings or jealousy over who was whose hand-holding partner. I was seriously exhausted by the end of that day.

I love that you're a mix of girly girl and tomboy. So while you love skirts and princesses and once declared that you needed to change your shirt because it didn't have enough pink on it, you also love Spiderman and Buzz Lightyear and toy cars. You have an adventurous spirit, and you're open to new experiences in a way your more cautious older brother often wasn't.

This next year, one of our big challenges will be The Thumb. I have a feeling we will now be paying penance for all of those sleep-filled nights that accompanied a baby whose No. 1 soother was attached to her arm. It pains me a bit to have to force you to give up this part of your babyhood -- partly because it also means admitting you're no longer my baby -- but it is time. And it will not be easy. Somewhere, my parents are laughing at all of this.

The fact is that you've grown up a lot in the past year. So much of what we used to have to do for you -- from brushing your teeth to washing your hair to buckling you into your car seat -- you now do for yourself. (And we'd better not forget it. See "the glare" and "the stomp" above.)

While that independence is exciting in many ways, it is hard, too, because it is clear that you're growing up so fast. The upside is that it's thrilling to watch you become the person you're going to be. I love the times we are able to hang out, just the two of us. We chat and laugh and get to be goofballs together. But of course I'm also nostalgic for the pudgy, spiky-haired baby you once were. It makes me happy that you still insist on cuddling into my arm when we read a bedtime story, even as you drop my hand as soon as we've crossed a street.

Nora, you have an amazing spirit, and I fall more and more in love with you every day.

Happy birthday, little girl.

Here's to a great 8

I suppose I've kinda given up on this here blogging thing (I blame Facebook...and work). But I do regret not doing birthday posts for the kids last year. If nothing else, these posts help put some slowed-down perspective on events that otherwise seem to careen forward with abandon.

And so, I hereby wish my goofy, smart, creative, handsome and kind 8-year-old a happy birthday.

First things first. You are huge. Tall, I mean, and solid, too. You are just over 4-1/2 feet tall and weigh 75 pounds -- you've shot up 3 inches in the past year. It seems that as soon as I buy you new pants, they're already high-waters. I've come to fear the teenage years, since we already can't keep up with the voracious appetite that feeds this growth.

I am so pleased that you continue to do well in school. You are pretty good at doing your homework by yourself, and get very worried if for some reason you aren't able to finish (like those nights we get home at 8:00). Inexplicably, math remains one of your strengths, but you can now also pick up pretty much anything written and figure out most of the words. You are fascinated by longer books, and keep raiding our bookshelf for copies of kid-looking fare--Harry Potter, Tom Sawyer, Stuart Little and the like. Your current favorite for actual reading is the Magic Treehouse series, but you tend you have about five books going at once and seem disinterested in actually finishing them (which frustrates your mother to no end).

You're in second grade now, and have a new companion at school -- your little sister. If we didn't already know you were a good big brother, having Nora at school certainly cemented it. You are her guardian and often serve as the "been there, done that" voice of comfort for new situations. At home, you and Nora play together wonderfully, and if a certain someone accidentally hurts a certain someone else, you're there with a goofy face to bring a laugh to the situation. That's not to say there aren't fights and disagreements, because hoo-boy, are there ever fights and disagreements, but I love that when it comes down to it, you two are so, so close.

You're now in your second year of basketball, and like most of the other boys your age, you prefer shooting baskets to working on plays or passing drills. But you're slowly catching on, and it's good to see you find your way outside your comfort zone of school or the sport you love. Because baseball is what you love. Last summer, you outgrew the Rec Dept league -- just not enough coaching or playtime for you -- so this summer we'll be stepping up to Little League, with a longer season, real uniforms, and kid pitching. We know you're really ready for this step because you were undeterred by the fact that your best friend Matthew didn't want to join Little League, too. You're also in the midst of your first swimming lessons in over four years, and we're so proud of how you listen and are really trying to learn, even though we know you're a little bit scared.

You remain the inquisitive explorer. There are icicles in our freezer and piles of rocks and sticks on our porch, since you rarely come back from a walk without a souvenir. You're really in your element when we visit Grandma and Grandpa Isherwood, though. What with their limitless supply of dirt, bugs and outdoor running water.

Weekends often find you making some project or another. That might mean creating a chart of numbers 1-100 or a giant thermometer or a book about Pillow Pets. (Tornado Boy, above, is one of my favorites, though -- a combination of your creativity and fascination with tornados.) Your mind is always working, working, and it's so cool to watch you interpret the world. Like yesterday, we told you that Grandpa uses his middle name instead of his first name when he writes books. Later that day, I spied your latest book, My Pillow Pet, by Aksel Lamb.

This past year, you lost your first (and second, third and fourth) teeth. You no longer need the step stool to see in the bathroom mirror. You can make exactly one hot meal by yourself: a microwaved hot dog. You've become a reliable source of information for what's due at school. You spent 11 months of 2010 asking for the same Christmas gift--a Nintendo DSi -- and wrote multiple letters to Santa, and for that you were rewarded with the gift you steadfastly sought. You still need some prodding in the morning when it comes to getting ready (since you tend to take at least 5 minutes to comb your hair just right), and you need reminders about picking up the playroom, or clearing your plate, but you are getting to be more helpful around the house.

You are learning more and more every day and trying to make sense of what it all means to you. You talk and wonder about the future -- about working, about money, about going to college, about having children, about dying. You make me promise that you will never have to leave home. And I smile and promise that you won't. Even though I know you will. I know there will come a day when you will want to leave so badly. But I am happy that although you are growing up in so many ways, for now, you still are the little boy who hugs me tight, reaches for my hand, and likes hearing about when you were a baby. Because you may be 8 years old, but you're still my baby. Always.

Owen turns 7

For the past couple of years, I've written a birthday post on my kids' birthdays. This year, well, let's just say I'm not going to make this deadline.

If there's one thing I've learned over the past year, it's that some deadlines you have to make, and others -- usually the self-imposed ones -- you don't. So, this weekend, I spent my time preparing for and hosting Owen's birthday party, baking cookies for him to share with his classmates (all 37 of them, sheesh!), preparing photos for his "star of the week" board at school and even sneaking in a little bit of downtime on my own birthday.

In other words, I didn't have time to gather my thoughts this week to sum up all the ways he has grown up this year. And there were many. My goodness there were many. So I'm going to take my time, and probably cry as I write about my little baby who's getting all grown up, because that's what mothers do.

Until then, I'll leave you with this list, which is his All About Me quiz, completed today, the day he turned 7 years old. How did that happen? Wasn't his first birthday just yesterday?

Favorite color: Blue

Favorite book: The Cat in the Hat

Favorite TV show: SpongeBob Squarepants

Favorite sport: Baseball

When I grow up, I want to be: A dad who makes movies

I'm special because: I'm nice and I'm funny

Place I'd most like to visit: Florida

Favorite food: Hot dogs and mac n cheese

One thing I really want to learn: Math

Best thing about me: I'm really weird

The people in my family are: my mom, my dad, my sister. They are nice people.

Pets: Loki and Freya

Best friends: Matthew and Aidan

Person I admire most: My dad

Favorite subject in school: Gym

Global Economy: A First-Grader's Take

So over the past week, Owen has been noticing the "made in" tags and stamps that exist on just about everything. And, in the process, has become keenly aware of a certain locale that pops up over and over again. Here's a sampling of a conversation over breakfast this morning:

Owen: (Slamming his Nemo cup down on the table): Made in China! Everything is made in China!

Me: Yes, a lot of things are made in China.

Owen: I want something made in a different state...Hey, do you know how many states I've been to?

And just like that, we start discussing the places he has traveled. Because he is, after all, a first-grader and isn't yet concerned with the ramifications of Americans' appetite for cheap crap. Though from time to time, he does talk about wanting to go to a factory to see stuff being made (he's fascinated by this concept of factories that make stuff), and short of breweries and Harley, I have to rack my brain to think of other factories we could visit.

23, 40, 66, 72, 77, 84

Earlier this year, I came to own a duplicate set of my grandmother's recipe cards. My cousin had them, and I asked to make copies. Spending an hour at the self-serve copier was a good chance to scan over this treasure trove as I waited to feed in the next cards.

Each card is written in my grandma's neat script, and many have notations in the corners, things like "from Grandma Manchester" or "very good." In fact, I noticed there are a lot of "very good" recipes, which befits my grandmother's tactful style. (Though it does make me think she was saying volumes about the quality of the recipes not labeled with this assessment.) There also are recipes clipped from magazines -- including a few obviously cut out of ads for Crisco or Borden condensed milk.

As I stood there, I thought, wouldn't it be cool to cook a recipe from Grandma once a week and blog about it? (before Amy Adams went and made this idea so yesterday). Well, that was January, so you see how far that idea got. But I was reminded of them again this week and thought I really should try some of her recipes.

That brings me to the numbers, because, of course, she numbered her cards. With the numbers you've given me (between this spot and my duplicate blog over at livejournal), you've helped select the first recipes to try.

And they are:

23 Cherry Dessert

40 Peanut Brittle

66 Lemon Pie

72 Loaf Cookies

77 Bar-b-que Sauce

84 Frozen Fruit Salad

Shit, people, I'm sorta trying to diet here and the first four are all desserts!? Well, please know that I won't be doing them in order, and to any co-workers reading this, get ready for leftovers.

So, if you haven't suggested a number and want to, or want to try another, go ahead. Though I hearby reserve the right to not make anything that just sounds too, well, yucky. (I'm lookin' at you, Poor Man's Chop Suey!)

Though I hear the Cherry Dessert is very good...

What's Your Number

Could you help me out with something? Pick a number between 1 and 190 and leave it in the comment section.

Reasons will be revealed soon.

It'll be fun, I promise.

Goodbye Summer, Hello First Grade

Owen started first grade today. It's funny how different the first day of school is now compared to two years ago, or even last year. This year, he knows the routine, knows his classmates.  He's a big first-grader, after all. Kindergarten is so last year. We took the obligatory front porch photo, then headed out. But not before he directed what he wanted in his lunch and talked to Nora about how he wouldn't be joining her at daycare today. "I'll be OK, Owen," she responded.

When we got to school, it was a bit chaotic. The first day is always a crush of parents, many of us armed with cameras. So, we did what all good parents do, lined 'em up and coaxed out a few choruses of "cheese."

Owen is in class with a couple of his best buds, Aidan and Matthew, this year. That will be fun -- and hopefully not result in too many rowdy behavior reports. Oh, and there are seven, yes, seven teachers for his class. Three teachers and four teaching assistants to juggle 37 kids between two rooms. Math every day, reading every day. Homework. This is where I insert a comment that first grade isn't how it used to be. It really isn't.