Kids care about more than presents at Christmas.

I have to admit that I was more excited for Christmas this year than the previous three years being a parent. This year, my son really got it...not in the 'he knows who Jesus is and what it really means' but in the guy in the red suit, eats cookies, drives a sleigh, etc. way.

Although we were on a tighter budget than usual this year, we still managed to make it big. When my son woke up, there was a shiny new 'big boy' bike and tons of little presents surrounding it. The tree was lit in the dark and half of the donuts we had to leave out instead of cookies were gone. Milk: polished off.

I laid in bed just waiting and silently begging my son to wake up and step outside of his room. Sure enough, at 6:30 he came padding toward our bedroom. He walked up, right next to my face and here's how the conversation emerged:

Son: Mommy, Santa's here.
Me: He's here right now?
Son: Mommy, Santa was here...and he brought me a bike.
Me: Oh really, well let's go see it.
Son: Come on. It's a bike! (runs out of the room)

My husband I jump out of bed (literally) and race into the living room. Our son is climbing all over the bike and going on and on about the shiny presents. But what he was most taken by was the fact that Santa didn't polish off the donuts we left out. He had three and only ate one and a half. Who would do such a thing!

Of course the bike has a horn, so it didn't take long for baby sister to wake up. And, like her brother, she went straight for the donuts, but decided to take it upon herself to finish them off for Santa.

What a perfect holiday. I didn't even care that none of the gifts were for my husband or I. Neither of us missed them. Our gifts are our children and the innocence we get to relive through them.

There are some things I just can't control.

Scenario 1: My son came out of his playroom the other day carrying half of a marshmallow gun and a water gun. He pointed both at me and said, "Just pretending mom, just pretending...but put your hands up."

Part of me wanted to laugh and part of me has horrified. I immediately began thinking of all the ways he could have learned this behavior. Was it TV or a day care buddy, his dad or another relative...did it even matter where he learned it?

In my house we've always stressed that guns are for animals only (yes, I realize this could offend some) and not for people. My son knows that when his dad gets all dressed up in camo that he's not going off to shoot at other people, but at some animal. He may not know why but he's very aware of the fact that he wants to join in some day.

In the end, I decided to go along with it. I raised my hands and swore that I did nothing wrong and that he shouldn't shoot me or take me to jail...

Scenario 2: This morning as we were heading to school, my son noticed a vehicle in the ditch. It must have slide off the road during the last few days when the weather was less than delightful. He asked why the car was there and I explained that the person must have hit some ice and slide off the road. My son then asked where the driver was and if he was dead.

You can imagine my shock, but I said no, the driver isn't dead, he must have been picked up by someone and driven home. And that he'll be back to get his car once the snow melts a little. Smart as he is...my son asked how I knew for sure that he wasn't in fact dead...

What amazes me so much here is how, at the age of 4, he can sort of grasp what it means to be dead. He knows that the person is no longer able to move, drive or speak. He just may not realize that it's permanent. Scary and yet incredibly amazing.

Playing Santa is harder than it seems.

Santa doesn't want cookies and milk. He wants donuts.

The moment I heard this from my four year old son, the warning signs should have appeared. It was the first of many conversations we've had on the subject. And with Christmas being another three weeks away, it won't be our last.

My son is in full 'I believe in Santa' mode, which I love and struggle with all at once. This is the first year I have to speak in code to my husband about gifts. I have to hide everything related to the holiday other than the tree...which my son now believes just having the tree up means that Santa is on his way TODAY. I have to buy a million different types of wrapping paper. And lock my bedroom door every time I'm in there.

The odd thing is, I'm not really complaining. It's actually kind of fun and I'm finding myself freaking out that he might find me out. Which ultimately is forcing me to become child-like. It's fun to play this game with him. And it makes me even more excited for the big day.

It's easier to love when we're young.

A week ago my son and I were sitting together in our living room. Across from us hangs a large framed picture from my wedding. I'm not really sure why we were looking at the picture but my son got very serious and said, "Mommy, someday I'm going to marry Cali...because I love her."

I realize that he cannot marry his sister but it still warmed my heart. He understands (or seems to understand) that my husband and I love one another so much so that we chose to get married. Regardless of what he knows or doesn't know about marriage, I had to squeeze him tight that night. The simple fact that he expresses his love for his sister so freely is a wonderful gift.

Last night, we had a similar conversation, although this time he said he'd marry me someday and daddy could marry Cali. So now I'm guessing that he is associating marriage with love and maybe that's all it is. But again, it doesn't matter as long as he's loving more than he's hating. It seems the older we get, the more jaded we are and the more walls we build. It seems so much easier to pre-judge and choose to dislike someone than open up and let ourselves be a little vulnerable. I'm not sure if it's the heartache we experience along the way or our own self doubt. Either way, it's sad and I hope that through my children I can become more open to letting more people in.

Not having a baby around is just as fun.

After my son officially became a 'little boy' I felt a little depressed. Then my daughter came and it was like a void was filled once again by a chubby, cuddly bundle. And as she's started growing out of the baby phase, instead of feeling depressed and having an urge to re-fill that void, I'm realizing it's just as fun...if not more fun...without a baby in my house.

I'm realizing how much easier it is to communicate. How my family is becoming more a team who relies on one another and not so focused on one single person in our home. My son helps me out with my daughter and he's starting to help around the house (with prodding).

In fact, the other morning he came into my room while I was getting ready for work and let me know that he had had an accident and that not only were his jammies wet but so was his bed and his favorite blanket. I have to admit, that eliminated any sort of grossness that comes with knowing your child had an accident that you have to clean up. We stripped his bedding together and he helped me load the washing machine.

It's the little every day moments with him that make me appreciate him and celebrate his growth. Looking back I realize that in some small way I may have been holding our family back from really charishing each stage of our growth. I'm sure I'll still take it for granted. I'm sure I'll see babies and want to hold them close.

But at the end of the day, I look forward to seeing what my children have accomplished or are working to accomplish even more.

Our children aren't always as strong as we think

I had an interesting 'first' as a working mother last night. We pitched to a potential client who could only meet afterhours, and it was crazy from the moment I agreed to it.

My children's daycare is not in the town I work in. And it closes at 6. And my husband's work vehicle only holds two people. And it was the same night as my step-daughter's last volleyball game. Are you understanding my issue yet?!

Anyway, I stressed and stressed about finding a sitter or striking a deal with my husband. We argued, yelled, came to a compromise and started the whole process over two more times before the presentation even came up. Running out of options, I enlisted my brother-in-law to watch my children during his play practice on his University's campus. I know, I know, I already sound like a terrible mother. (I should also mention this is after I looked into daycares that allow you to drop off your kids for an hour here and there without a long-term commitment)

I raced out of work at 4:15 and was back here with kids and Mc D's at five. They ate. I watched and cheered them on to be finished by 5:30 so we could meet their uncle.

Lugged them both down the street with toys, books, snacks... and away I went.

By 5:45 I was at the presentation. Another thirty minutes later we were doing our thing.

I checked the clock when I hopped back in my car. 6:57. Damn...fifteen minutes later than I promised I'd be back by. Here comes another pang of guilt.

I race across town and see my kids with their uncle. Sissy's crying (sobbing actually) and Bubs is running back and forth a little ledge in the dark. Another pang of guilt.

As I run across the street, apologies to my kids and my brother-in-law are racing through my head. And I manage to get a few out before I realized that my daughter is completely distraught. She's sucking in like she's been crying for an hour. Her little cheeks are sticky and wet and red. Again with the guilt.

I don't really remember the ride home other than I just craved a hug and wanted to tell them over and over again how sorry I am. This morning, they were back to normal and I'm the one who's still suffering.

My kids are troopers but I was reminded of how vulnerable they are, and even more of how much we all need each other.

Everyone defines 'growing up' differently.

Last night I was rocking my daughter to sleep, silently praying that her cough wouldn't keep her up all night. My son sat next to us, still flipping through the book we just read together. I found myself looking from her to him and back again, and told Caden that he used to be this small. At one time, he was a baby just like his 12-month old sister.

And while I sat sulking, he propped his head up on one hand, much like The Thinker, and said very seriously, "Yeah but now that I'm big I can play football and baseball and soccer ball...and volleyball. Okay volleyball's for girls, but..."

After his giggling subsided, I first explained that boys can play volleyball. And then I found it within myself to tell him that I'm excited for him to play all of those things and to learn all the cool stuff he has to learn. And I honestly am. I just wish he'd stay young and innocent a little longer. I can feel the days being numbered.

On the bright side, at least he's dreaming of playing sports and not of girls....yet.

Time doesn't repeat itself.

I receive emails from a fabulous parenting site: modernmom.com, and there is always a featured blog attached to the emails. And I have to say, each one is inspiring in it's own rite. However, today's was exceptional great. The blog was about making time for our kids and never using the phrase 'not now son.' The blogger was dead on and in one of the many comments following his post, someone said, "You can never give back the gift of time."

I've gotta admit that sentenced stopped me in my tracks. There have been nights when Caden's brought me a book immediately after I've put his little sister to bed and I've elected to ask him to just let me hold him for ahwile instead. Now I realize that it would have taken the same amount of energy to read to him. And it would have been good for both of us. Those are the moments where I've failed miserably in my quest to balance work and motherhood. I let him down because I was drained from my job and the first two hours of cooking, cleaning and playing at home.

So today's lesson is really something I need to give my children and not the other way around.

Life's a race.

My daughter turned one this week, and I find myself picking up on all the other nearly one-year-olds who are walking. What's worse is that I also find myself feeling somehow disappointed that my child isn't 'mature enough' to be walking yet. Ask any proud parent and they'll boast how smart and how mature their baby is. I can't even count how many times I've heard it.

And because of it, I've always tried to stop myself from telling others or even my children sometimes how smart they are. It's not really about that. It's about our children achieving some level of success. They're learning and we should celebrate their accomplishments, not how much smarter or faster they are.

I also realized that the problem isn't that Cali can't walk; it's that she chooses not to. She's more interested in following her big brother all over. And she can just about keep up when she's on all fours. So I've decided to embrace the fact that my children love to play together and are more at peace when they're together than apart. Cali will walk when she's ready...and she'll probably just wait until she knows she can run.

My son's level of awareness is amazing...

A week or so ago, we took a family bike ride. Nothing unusual as we take as many as we can these days considering the warm weather is slowing ending. And as usual, Corey's on his bike (alone) and I'm pulling one of those cart things that I swore I'd never buy and now I haul that thing everywhere.

We made a mandatory stop at the park so our son could go down the Tornado slide a few times. Cali stayed put tonight as we were running out of sunlight and only had time for two trips down the slide. As Caden comes running up to get back into the cart with his sister, he stops and looks at me, a quizzical look on his face: "Mom, are we going to have another baby?"

Needless to say I was speechless and my husband just kind of stood there as though he was wondering the same thing. After what seemed like an eternity, I just smiled and said "We'll see." I knew that Caden understands where Cali came from...as in the fact that she used to be in my belly. And he's starting to understand that he used to be a baby. But never in a million years did I expect him to ask if he'd have yet another brother or sister to play with. And quite honestly, I hadn't thought about it as much as I have been since.

Is it better to not have any more children so that I feel like I still have some private time with Caden, or would he be better off with another sibling that he can love and protect like he does with Cali?

We're 'all about me' from day 1.

My daughter, Cali (pronounced Callie), is eleven months old. She has just started holding her own bottle. If you're a parent you understand that she developed the strength and skills to hold her bottle weeks, if not months, ago. But she prefers having someone else do the work. She does this strange little hand jive while she's drinking...must be soothing. Anyway, this certain level of laziness or selfishness is comical to me. More so when I've handed her a bottle without warming it first. She won't eat. She may be starving. And she loves milk more than anything in the world. But she will not drink if it's straight outta the fridge-even if I'm holding it.

In fact, earlier this week she flung an entire bottle across the kitchen in disgust. If babies can give parents death stares, I'm pretty sure I got one. So I've learned that to keep the peace at dinner time (because she also insists on sitting with the family at dinner time regardless of when she ate last) I have to warm up her bottle and just pray that she chooses to feed herself...which could be my 'all about me' moment when I just want to eat a meal without getting up eight times or feeding multiple people simultaneously.

Looks like selfishness begins at the womb in addition to the urge to cheat (see previous post).

Butting in line comes natural

I'm on the fence about whether or not I believe that we're born with a competitive spirit or not. A few years ago I fully believed that it must just develop over time after we've been in situations where competitiveness weeds out the meek. But after this weekend, I am once again on the fence.

Last weekend I attended my nieces fourth birthday party. It was one of those neighborhood type of things where nineteen kids under the age of ten show up. I still don't know if their parents were there. And yet there were only like four cars in the driveway (two of which belonged to the hosts). This was a special treat for my three year old son. He has tons of friends but there are only five of them. I'm not sure he knew this many kids existed. But when the chaos was at its peak, the games began...with tape the bow on Minnie Mouse.

I'm pretty sure Caden's never played this game. And I'm not even sure he's ever really been dizzy. But after some prodding, he slumped over to the end of the line. The three kids ahead of him made sure he was back there instead of next to them. And I of course watched as close as a mother bird who leaves the nest for the first time...I was determined to witness every moment of this 'first' for him. Little did I know, the challenge was not the spinning and taping; it was just getting to the front of the line.

As the kids took their turn--there are nineteen remember--the others got restless. And the boys back by Caden seemed to hop in and out of line more than I could keep track. And with every one, my son would peek at me under his every-woman-would-kill-for- eyelashes-that-thick-and-long eyelashes, I immediately knew what he was scheming. He was waiting for the perfect moment to cut in front of these boys just so he wouldn't be last.

Gotta hand it to him for at least attempting to be sneaky. He failed by the way...just as he took a few baby steps up, the kid he passed swung around and scooted his way back in line. An evil look or two later, Caden was just about to the front. And moments later, he forgot that he was last.

So it looks like the only thing that's changed from butting as a three year old to butting as a twenty-nine year old is that I'm not sure the adults ever really forget. And I know we'd fight like hell to keep the place we cheated to get.

At the age of 3 we dream of being 16.

When my son began asking if he could play baseball every single time we drive by the ball fields in our small town, I didn't really think much of it. But when we drove by a local high school a few weeks ago and he asked when he could go to high school, it dawned on me that he's already wishing he was an adult, or getting close to being one. When I tried to explain that he needed to wait until he's as big as his half-sister, Mariah (who's 16), he crossed his arms, stuck out his lip...keep in mind this kid's in a booster seat and his little legs are dangling a good 16 inches from the ground...and said, "But I never get to go to high school."

Classic.

And between chuckles to myself, I looked at him in the rearview mirror and my heart broke a little that day. Is it society or something he learned at school or some desire that's implanted at conception that made this three year old crave to be older? Why can't he just stay focused on his Hot Wheel-centric life? Seriously, wouldn't life be a heck of a lot happier and less stressful if all we had to worry about was whether or not we would be going into town after day care to get a new toy? And who wants to be a teen all over again. That's just crazy...even for a toddler.