Photos taken October 18, 2010. Paul’s preschool went on a field trip to the apple orchard! Paul got to pick apples (although I didn’t get a picture of that) and then we visited the petting zoo and played on the playground. It was a fun day.
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On the wagon to go pick apples
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Playing on the "fire truck"
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At the petting zoo
Paul favors the deep purples (no surprise there, as purple is his favorite color). I love the bright reds, although my ultimate favorites are the multi-colored trees, with green at the bottom then yellow and gold, orange, red, and purple at the top. So pretty.
I love fall colors.
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Here is a video of Paul and his birthday cake.
Happy birthday, dear boy!
P.S., please tell me if you cannot view this!
Photos taken Friday, October 8, 2010. Paul had a pumpkin cookie decorating party! The kids came, decorated cookies for about two minutes each, ran around the basement, ran around outside, and went home. They had a blast, and it was just what Paul wanted: to play with his friends and eat sugary junk food, all in the name of “birthday!”.
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Kaleb and Shaylie and their Mom
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James, Andy, and Paul
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Paul decorating a cookie and eating the candy from his mini pumpkin
Semi-annual and annual General Conference is a touchstone each April and October. As I turn on the computer and tune in to prophet’s messages, I find myself reflecting on where we were six months ago, a year ago, two years ago.
Three years ago, on a Sunday morning, I was in labor. I awoke at 3 a.m. Melbourne time, finally waking Ryan up at 5 a.m., just as the morning session of Saturday conference was beginning (or ending?) in Salt Lake City. I watched the majority of the session on the internet as I curled up in laboring ball on the bed and as I paced the bedroom back and forth. I was not feeling very well and I don’t remember much, but I do remember Elder Cook was called that session. I got through most of the session, then we called our parents and told them we were headed to the hospital. A few hours later (at 3:13 p.m. Melbourne time), Paul was born, just about midnight in the USA.
Two years ago, Paul celebrated his first birthday at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I turned on my computer and we watched it on my little screen in my parent’s family room. Paul was a new walker, happy to giggle and play with toys and listen to the songs. He was very tired when we had birthday cake in between sessions.
Last October, we had invited some friends to come to our house for dinner and conference. But then Ryan and I and Paul were a bit sick and we canceled. I don’t recall that we really watched much. We were sick a year ago April, too. I know because we had invited the same friends and had to cancel. Ah well, some years are more memorable than others. I don’t think it was very memorable with toddler-Paul.
This year, Paul gets it. He recognized the prophet and I borrowed Frank and Elizabeth’s idea and had a few key words we are listening for: Temples, the Book of Mormon, and Prophets. When he heard each one he would get to put a sticker on the page. He lasted through a bit of each conference and even when he’d be playing with his toys and we’d think he wasn’t listening, he’d suddenly stop and say, “Alma in the Book of Mormon! I get a Book of Mormon sticker!” And he’d stop playing to put a sticker (or three) on the Book of Mormon page.
This is a testimony to me that it is never too young to give full attention and expectation on your kids. They are listening to the prophet even when you may not think so. Beyond that, they recognize the spirit and the mantle on the shoulders of those who have been called.
It was a few months ago that, at a baptism, Paul saw the Bishop on the side of the room and said, with barely contained excitement, “Mommy! Look! It’s that guy!!!”
“Oh, do you see the Bishop?” I asked. Our bishop is not very outgoing and talkative unless he has a reason to be, so I was quite surprised that Paul had noticed the Bishop as someone special. But, seeing it as a good opportunity, I walked him over, had him shake the Bishop’s hand, and told Paul that the Bishop was special because he was called of God to serve the ward.
Ever since then, Paul has always been very, very excited to see the Bishop, and always wants to shake his hand. At another baptism last month, he saw the Bishop and I again walked him over to shake the Bishop’s hand.
“Yes, it’s the Bishop!” I said.
The Bishop heard me. “One of many,” he responded.
“But the only one of our ward.” I said. I told him how I was sure Paul had a testimony of his calling as Bishop. He got tears in his eyes.
Yes, our children have the spirit. They know.
When I picked Paul up from preschool, day 1, I realized that I have loved being a part of his every moment since his birth. I have been able to always know what he does, what he says, what he learns. Even when I didn’t want to, I have cared for the inner workings of his body, from his ear wax to his bowel movements (is it not so?). His life has been an intricate part of my life for three years.
From now on, from the moment I drop him off at preschool until I pick him up, there are regular hours of the week that I am not a part of. He’ll say cute things that I’ll never hear. He will have fun activities that I’ll never hear about. He will fall down and hurt himself and cry, let’s hope learning how to calm himself (he’s rather sensitive about “owies”). He will take care of his own toileting needs. And that is how it should be.
Being a stay-at-home mom has its share of ups and downs. I have not loved everything in the past three years and I have my own short fuse for certain annoyances. But it was important for me to send him off to school. I’ll better appreciate the time we do spend together. He has long realized he’s distinct from me, and I need to do a better job of letting go and living my life without following his every movement. I have to trust that I’ve taught him what he needs to get along in the world, and when we are together those are the things I need to make sure I’ll teach him.
In a Relief Society meeting on motherhood a few months ago, the teacher talked about how all six of her children live far away from her. She is sad because she doesn’t see her children and grandchildren as often as she’d like but she can see from associating with them from a distance that she knows has succeeded as a mother in teaching her children to be independent, happy, and well-adjusted in the world, despite the fact that they are so far away from her.
My job as a mother is to help Paul to learn what he needs to learn to be his own person like that, from developing his own testimony to coping with the physical and emotional challenges that come. What an honor that I can do so full-time, and I’m glad to see him branching out on his own, even though it makes me sad just a little bit.
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Note: These are my amateur attempts to get a birthday shot. They are a bit out of focus, I realize. They should be OK if you do a smaller picture (probably no bigger than 4×6 or maybe 5×7). The images above are the hi res for now.
Paul is so old. He has not had a toilet accident in more than a week (and only two or three bed wettings in that time, trust me that’s an improvement over last week since he has insisted on wearing underpants and not pull-ups even to bed). He’s beginning to say “I’ll do it all by myself.” He wakes himself up in the night to go potty. He asks to use a “big boy plate” at dinner and at least one meal a day I give him a cup that is not a sippy cup and he does not spill.
I have just tucked him in to bed after a very fun third birthday. I gave myself a rule this morning that I wouldn’t let myself be distracted by the chores (Thursday is normally my clean the whole house day) or blogging (I like to blog on Rebecca Reads far more than here, if you haven’t noticed) or reading my novel (sometimes I admit that a novel is in my hand as I play with him. It’s amazing how much one can read in the in-between moments every day).
No, instead, today was his day. I gave him my undivided attention. Even as I cooked dinner (his favorite and his request, Cream of Pumpkin Soup), I was still giving him attention as much as I could. And it made for day of delight. I’m just as tired as the toddler, since we played his new Busytown Game for five hours (it requires crawling from one side of the six-foot game board to the other through the course of one game) so I know such one-on-one time is not doable every day. But it was so nice to enjoy my son thoroughly.
I absolutely loved the newborn stage. I loved that I was able to cuddle him constantly and no one tried to take him away from me and I didn’t want to let anyone take him away from me (I was not yet burned out, I suppose). I loved that only I could nurse him. He needed his mother regularly through the day and it was such a special time, even in the middle of the night as we dosed off together. I loved that he was innocent and learning how to control his arms, his legs, his head. Everything was so wonderful about newborn Paul. Even the spit-up I didn’t mind so much as Daddy did.
I haven’t loved the other stages. Once he started to crawl and walk and talk, I found myself wondering why I’d been so excited for those milestones. I didn’t like his inability to communicate and his out-of-control self, even as he thought he could do things. But now, in the past few weeks, I feel Paul has crossed a new milestone and I love this one. This new age, age three, the preschool years, is a remarkable one. My parenting book, which I haven’t looked at for probably two years but recently referred to, calls the twos the “terrible twos” and the threes and fours the “magical years.”
I can really see his world becoming “magical”. He still cannot control his emotions very well (especially at the end of the day, when he’s been up for the full 12 hours) and he certainly has his opinions on what he wants to be doing and what he wants me to do (“come play with me, Mommy! Right! NOW!”) But suddenly he has imaginary friends, he gets wide-eyed as I tell him fairy tales, and he asks questions and tells stories about the past, present, and future. He’s putting things together, and learning at an exponential rate. He reads his numbers, one to 13; he knows the phonics of every letter, although he doesn’t read words yet; he knows right from left; he knows both of his parents names; and we’re almost there on his phone number. (If I tell it to him, he knows it is his phone number, and if I stop part way through he can finish it, usually).
Today we were driving and he was calling out the numbers on speed limit signs.
“4!5!” he said.
“Yes, that’s 45,” I replied, turning left on to a side road.
“3!0!” he exclaimed.
“Is 30 slower or faster than 45?” I asked.
“Slower” he said, noting the slowed speed of the car.
“Yes! 30 is a lower number than 45, so 30 miles per hour is slower than 45 miles per hour.” We played with our basket of apples when we got home and talked about how three apples is less than four apples. And two and one are both less than three. He doesn’t really get it (well, he probably did for a moment but has already forgotten) but it was so fun to see that the he’s learning and that we can talk about real things. The world is magical, but he’s learning that it can also be explained if he just learns how.
I can’t wait to see where we go in the next year.
Happy birthday, Raisin!
Pictures taken at preschool October 7, 2010. Paul insisted that he wanted the “flower” cookie.
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Paul loves preschool. Loves it. From the first day, he runs in and says “bye” without hesitation. This is how it’s always been. He has never been sad for me to leave him (except for about a month when I started working at the library one day a week. I think he was sad then, though, not because he was with Daddy and not me but because I wasn’t taking him to the library too.). As for preschool, though, it’s just what he needs. He gets little friends to play with him, teachers who love him and encourage him, new toys to enjoy, craft activities and outside time. He still follows me around the house asking me to play games with him. But it’s okay because he knows he has preschool to look forward to the other days.
He saw me come in and ran over. “Mommy!”
“Hi honey!”
“I played with play dough!” He jumped up and down.
“How fun! What else did you do?”
“uhhhhhhh…..”
He couldn’t answer. Not a single other thing could he explain. I prompted him and asked the teacher and found he also had a snack and went outside and read a story. Now I know what general things they do so I can ask, but that first day was revealing. His two hours at preschool are unknowns to me because he won’t always be able to tell me what he did.
In the car on the way home, I asked him about his new little friends.
“Is Nick your friend?”
“Yes.”
“Is Gracie your friend?”
“Yes.”
“Who else is your friend at preschool?”
“Jesus! He is my friend. He’s in every prayer.”
Awwwww. Paul goes to a Lutheran preschool and I’m glad to know they’ve already gotten the important bits in.
Paul has an overactive imagination. There is nothing wrong with it, that is for sure. He has been enjoying the Richard Scarry books, and I found some “Busytown Mysteries” movies at the library to watch. He loves them and watches them over and over again. So much so that now Goldbug is his special imaginary friend.
“Mommy! Don’t clean that toilet! Goldbug is sitting there. He’s going pee and poop!”
“Mommy, Goldbug is hungry.”
“Goldbug is coming to church today, Mommy.” (“Is he going to sit reverently?” I asked. “Yes.” Later, Paul was squirming. I asked him to show Goldbug how to sit reverently and Paul immediately sat up and sat still.)
“Today is Goldbug’s birthday, Mommy. He’s a big boy! He’s six years old!”
“Goldbug is driving to preschool in his own car, Mommy. It’s right there [pointing out the window].”
“When we get to preschool, Paul and Goldbug need to wash their hands.” [They have to wash hands before they come in the room.]
On Sunday, Mommy and Daddy got tired of the Paul-goes-Poop-in-Pull-Ups game. I told him it was no longer acceptable to go poop in his pullups “because I was playing” or “because I was watching my movie” or “because I was too busy.” From now on we’re wearing underpants.
Monday and Tuesday were completely dry. Wednesday, two accidents. Thursday, one. We’re doing okay. He just needed that ultimatum, I guess. No more Pull-ups. They are too much like diapers, he doesn’t feel like stopping playing. He doesn’t like scrubbing out the underpants, though, so I think that is motivation… Plus the bribery toy when he finishes his potty chart.
In short, Paul is happy. He’s growing up quickly.