5, 3, 1. Favorites edition.

Favorites.

He's five.
Going on 16.
And think he is way to cool for my camera apparently.

He's three.
Just barely.
But every ounce of his body is three. If you've ever had a three year old, you know what I mean. On that note - is it 5:00 yet? 

And this little man.
He is one. And almost a half.
One and here in all his hammed up glory.
And apparently doesn't mind the camera all up in his mug. Yet.

Favorites.
These happen to be theirs.
They happen to be mine.
My favorites. All three.

I'm one lucky lady.

Crocs. Cubed.

I've shamefully succumbed to allowing my children to pick out their own clothes. I have admitted previously before that I let my children wear Crocs beyond my not-so-loving approval of them. Sigh.

And for someone who HATES Crocs. Dang, that's a lot of 'em. 

Their presence is welcomed though because it's a sure sign that summer is in full effect.
Yes siree, indeed.

Happy July peeps!

Max is 3!

Max,

Happy birthday angel muffin!!

This marks number three.
The week leading up to your birthday I had a few conversations in my head. They all boiled down to something a lot like this:
Three?? Already??  Yup..Already. *sigh*
THREE!!

Really? REALLY.

Then the day came. THREE! Balloons suspended from every light fixture and inch of the ceiling (you can thank Daddy for that one. I fell asleep on the job. Literally). For some reason, certain ages seem so much older then the previous one. Three is one of those. It's a biggie for me.  Ancient in comparison to two. Not so much a baby. Don't be fooled, you will always be MY BABY.

But to everyone else, I think you are a "big" kid. A preschooler maybe? Okay, okay. LETS NOT GET CARRIED AWAY.

I remember your birth so vividly. Not so much like it was yesterday, but the details are still rich. 5:27 AM. 7 lbs even. 19 3/4 inches. The smell of the hospital, the excitement of your impending arrival. The anticipation. The decision of your name. You came to us quickly. So early, before the sun had risen.  And you were wide awake. Your little eyes stared straight in to mine. When I saw you I felt so content. My heart was so full. When your eyes met mine, it was like they'd been waiting to see me as long as mine had eagerly awaited seeing you. EYES, PURE BLACK. And you my darling.
Such a love.

Everything you do is done with energy and determination. You are feisty. Bubbly. Often times strong willed. You are so well spoken for three. You love to swim, color and blow bubbles. You sing loudly. You repeat TV and radio commercials. One of my favorite things about you is your voice. Sometimes quiet and timid, others so deep and hoarse.  I want to bottle it up and save it forever.

Your favorite things to play with are your Legos. You refuse to wear a shirt to bed or for much of the day. You pee more than any living thing I have ever met. The minute we get anywhere you HAVE TO PEE. In the car you HAVE TO PEE. I swear you do it for kicks.

You also devour sweets. If you ever have a hard time finding a job, just call Willie Wonka. You don't even discriminate against the sweets. Chocolate covered anything - sure why not. Lollipops? Two please. Ice cream, for breakfast, lunch and dinner? AMEN.

You can imagine your delight of sprinkle covered donuts FOR BREAKFAST yesterday.

Most days after your nap you come lay next to me. Still sleepy. You lounge lazily. A snuggler for sure. Little legs criss cross together, you perch yourself on my lap, your back rests neighboring my chest. Your thumb tucked between your lips.  And we breathe. More like sighs of comfort. Slow, heavy, with no place we have to be. Delaying the inevitable chaos soon to come.
These moments are fleeting.

You are the wild one Maximo. Yes, yes you are. Often times it's trying. I know it is just part of being three. But part of it is just your temperament. Strong. Determined. Stubborn, but not quite uncooperative.  As you age, it will be a wonderful characteristic. You are just you, with little regard to your surroundings. You do your thing, your way. I hope that never changes, because the little you who you are is exquisite. You are full of compassion. Even your soft, bitty lips kiss with force.



Happy third birthday little peanut butter.
I love you so incredibly much Max. You will always be my pocket-sized tornado.
I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE MINE.

to the moon and back -
Mama

Christmas 2011.

I originally wrote this post in December of 2011. And just got lazy to go through/upload the 1000 Christmas pictures I'd taken. Then I lost our Nikon on our Spring Break trip. With the Christmas camera card in it. (Cue the sobbing.) So I have very very few Christmas pictures from Christmas AM. Thankfully I did take a handful on my phone to send to family that morning.

Ok, enough about that.

It's always hard for me to put into words the experience of Christmas morning. It's pretty much just...awesome. The twinkling lights on the tree alone make the whole house feel all warm and nostalgic. And then the little guy's eyes.

TOTALLY MAGICAL.

It was a special Christmas for many reasons. The biggest -- we had FIVE stockings hanging this year. It's funny how just one more stocking looks like so much more. AQ celebrated his first Christmas. And in style. Dining on lamb chops.

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This year we tracked Santa on my phone. There's an app for that. No seriously, there's an app for that. From about 7ish on Christmas Eve and consecutively in ten minutes intervals, with zero break. Mason was so excited. And totally in to the business of finding Santa. He would randomly inform any family member who would listen about the jolly ole dude's whereabouts. We tracked him from Peru to Lima, then all the way to Nashua and Maine. He was getting close -- all the way to Georgia when we tucked them in. At one point Mason excitedly told Max "he had better get to bed....AND QUICK". At this point, I was considering tracking Santa every night.

The boys eagerly put cookies on a plate, wrote Santa a little letter and poured some cold milk. Our house was completely ready to welcome St. Nick. And luckily the presents were already wrapped and hiding in the garage, ready to be shuffled under the tree.

Max through us a curve ball the week before Christmastime. At our last Santa encounter he politely requested "a red bike" and "a patta-pus" (platypus). Neither request has been mentioned.

On any list.
In any conversation between Max and I.
Or Max and Santa.  
Ever.
Well until this very minute. Awesome.

One small problem though...the shopping? Yeah, it was DONE. The gifts? Yup, they were WRAPPED. And Christmas? Umm I thought it was READY.

This mama, as crazy as I may be, was not about to set foot in a toy store, the week of Christmas. And a Target? HA. People get crazy up in Target in December y'all.

Luckily for Max he has loving grandparents. He received all his little heart desired. Thank you, thank you and thank you Amazon. Overnight shipping is a beautiful thing.

They woke up just as excited as they went to bed. Mason ran down the stairs and saw gifts, the twinkling lights on the tree and exclaimed, "HE CAME HE CAME HE CAME".
Indeed baby, he did.

Thankfully Michael was ready with the video camera and caught it all on film.

I really wanted to do a yearly picture of the boys in their jammies under the tree before gifts were shredded open. It was going to be my annual tradition.
Matching jammies.
Babies lined up all snug and sleepy eyed, smiling.

This picture was the weekend before Christmas.

As most of my "plans" go with these guys, this vision also went awry. Mason was too excited to sit for a picture, Max was too tired to smile and Alexander had totally lost his jammie bottoms to a blowout diaper. I tried to dole out stockings while the chaos was contained and sorted out. That picture? Yeah, it never happened. And looking back at last year's it wasn't so "magical" and smiley anyway.

Notice how smiley Max was. The yearly choke hold. (2010)

Their eyes and reactions to nearly every gift was priceless. Four and a half was the perfect age for Christmas!!

Mason has wanted a Wii forever. Santa finally delivered. We spent the day in our PJs, playing Mario Kart, brunching and sipping mimosas. It was total bliss.

I love the holidays. The feeling of Christmas morning can't be replaced or beat by any other minute. Ours was lovely.

Max-isms.

This is my first Max-ism post. He's always been a chatter box, but lately he's hit an all time high. Most of it is just random cuteness that he does/says. And probably not really that funny.


- Whenever I ask "Who wants XYZ (raisins, apple sticks, juice box, etc)"? Mason always says "I do!" and Max's response? "Maximo William does". Thanks for the formality Maximo. Which by the way, WE NEVER CALL HIM.

- Along the way we've acquired a ton of stuffed animals (seriously, I hate most toys, but I LOATHE stuffed animals). One of which is Smurf. I don't even think it's a real Smurf.  Who makes knock off stuff animals?? The boys take turns sleeping with it and it's not really that funny, but I love that Max calls it "a smartie'' instead of a Smurf. I don't have the heart to correct him and I hope he ALWAYS calls it that.

- He refuses to sleep with a shirt on. I thought this was something teenage boys did, but not two year olds?? It is hilarious and precious.

- He is obsessed with superheroes. And legos. And army guys. Which you would know even if you didn't know him by just seeing him out  and about. EVER. Most days he insists on wearing his cape, even if we aren't leaving the house. He carries this little man purse (I think it's to a play doctor kit) with all his army guys in it, and a few random legos, and a sippy cup. Random right? You never know when your are going to need a GI JOE and a drink. I'm with you Max. Cheers baby!

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
Yup.
That is a fist pump.
And a crotch grab all in one picture.
He's pretty awesome.

Reappear. Redo. Recommit.

I'm reappearing in to the blog world. I'm working on redoing the blog. I'm recommitting to this. I miss writing, sharing, storytelling.

I'm not going to give the whole "I started this blog for memories.." speech. Again. But yeah. That.

I'm going to do two catch uppers. Then, just let it go and move on. Christmas and Spring Break in Miami coming soon.

COMMITTED. READY, SET, WRITE.

Five.

Mason,

Happy birthday baby!! Today you are five. FIVE. FIVE. FIVE. FIVE. FIVE. It is weird to even type that.

FIVE.

A whole HAND FULL. (Not to be confused with a handful, which you often are as well.) Though it's just five fingers it's so much more than that. Five years makes for a lot of memories. A handful of years, a heart full of joyous, chaotic moments. Surprisingly, it didn't really sneak up on me like past birthdays. Years past each birthday was bittersweet. Another year we'd made it. Another year you'd thrived. Another year flew by. This year isn't any different.

WE MADE IT.
YOU THRIVED.
AND IT FLEW BY.

But in its own way it is different.

Five is a little different. With five comes kindergarten. Let me just tell you what a BIG DEAL Kindergarten is these days. For nearly every parent of a four year old I know this is the topic of discussion. There are reoccurring themes in these conversations, the most popular -- anxiety. Followed closely by fear paired with excitement. Unknowns. Hysteria. And here is where I admit to you that I am not really that sad about it. I feel a little guilty, because for years the mere thought of you turning five panicked me. Just hearing the word kindergarten made me worried, perhaps anxious is a better word.
OKAY....it made me come TOTALLY UNGLUED.

But magically with the nearing of five...I think we are ready. But I can't help but wonder did I  DID WE do enough? Did we build enough puzzles? Paint enough with our fingers? Did I snuggle you long enough when you'd drift off to sleep? Did I watch your tiny little sighs while you were napping? I second guess myself often. Did I laugh hard enough when you first started telling me stories? I replay afternoons in my head. I question did we build tall enough towers? Watch enough Pixar films? Did I listen? I heard you, but did I really listen when you asked questions about dinosaurs and volcanoes? And better yet, were my answers sufficient? Did I read enough nursery rhymes? Sing enough lullabies? Did I let you get muddy? Jump in murky puddles? Did I take enough pictures? Film enough memories? Because I can't forget those things, they aren't coming back. Because I don't WANT TO FORGET them. Because they were  are ours. Did I prepare you? Did I spend the five years that I was given with you wisely? Abundantly? And most of the times the answer is yes.

But sometimes I wonder.

And so I accept that the afternoons won't still get to be spent in pajamas, or me whispering I love you as you fall in to a deep 1:00 PM slumber. Instead, we'll spend them building Lego ships after school, hearing about your day, reading new stories, making new friends. I'll probably still whisper I love you. But the good thing about FIVE is you say it back. And you know what it means. And it means so much more coming from a FIVE YEAR OLD who gets it. You totally get it.

This year you've blossomed in a new way. You have matured. Your questions now have purpose. You fill your role as biggest brother in ways I never imagined a five year old could.You play harder, sleep harder. You talk faster, you stand taller, you laugh louder. You jump higher, you eat more, OH MY GOODNESS YOU EAT MORE. People always joke when they see me grocery shopping with you and your brothers. Just wait until they are teenagers. Wow three boys, you are going to need a part time job to pay for groceries once they reach high school. Ummm, why yes, thank you. But what about now? Because they are two and five. And this chubby one, he's not even ONE. And I think I should probably just buy a cow. And a chicken. And a field full of wheat maybe.

You really understand things. You have started to read. You have started to write. You take pride in your drawings and you should, because your artwork is awesome. You draw elaborate scenes, filled with people. People who don't really have have clothing or bodies, but these kick ass people HAVE FINGERS. And tiny little heads with eyes as big as quarters. And I love them.

I absolutely love those little people, because you drew them. They are your signature masterpiece. And you are mine. My masterwork, my showpiece, my gem. You started as this small little empty canvas and now your canvas is painted with personality, coated with curiosity. A true masterpiece we call Mason. Ornate, yet simple. Dazzling. Simply stunning. And just like you do for your works of art, I too take pride.

So much pride that it bursts at my seams. The pride overflows the arch of my lips and sneaks up the corners of my mouth  in to a gigantic beaming smile of delight. Delightful pride. All because of you. I am proud of you today. I am proud of your yesterdays, your last Thursdays, your two, three and four year old feats. And I will be proud of your tomorrow. For always.

I asked you what you thought about turning five. You didn't seem really enthusiastic, but you reminded me that once you were five (umm, hello you already are...as in today is your BIRTHDAY and that's when you turn a year old...) you'd have to go to kindergarten. And you wanna know what that means Mom? Umm, well first of all I hope it doesn't mean you are going to start calling me MOM. Not ready for that jelly. Mmmmkay? It means that I have to be good. After much discussion of the fact that I already thought you were pretty good, you reassured me you'd have to be good-er.

Oh okay. Awesome. On that note...I think I'm going to like five. So long as being gooder means less whining than accompanied the sweet age of four. I also hope that your kindergarten teacher is ready for some grammar lessons and such. Perhaps we missed that lesson amongst the painting and Pixar movies? Gooder? Seriously?

When you blew out your candles this morning I hope you wished big. Today is YOUR DAY. We are celebrating you. The bigger, older, sweet you. The gooder you, Mase. 


Happy birthday to our baby boy.

Loving you more then the day we met,
Mommy (IWILLNEVERBEMOM).