Three for the weekend

Weekends feel much more like indefinite second shift than the off-duty crown of the week. By 9 in the evening, I require a period of complete and total left-aloneness. The pale analogy of what transpires on weekends would be of three equally noisy, static-y radio stations running simultaneously, and intermittently losing and acquiring signal and volume. To my introverted, one-track brain this typically leads to near-combustion immediately after all three kids have been shoveled into beds. Which by itself takes no less then a cumulative hour and a half - if we are lucky.

Having said that (in an attempt to get out pent-up lack of any semblance of solitude), I'm going on record to say that I love my three radios... children dearly and count it as an amazing privilege to know they are here with me - even when shoveled into beds. One day, the commotion will be gone. And after that unbelievably fantastic extended vacation to Bora Bora to a resort where only adults are allowed, I will miss the crazy. The squeals, the plea deals on whodunit, the utter inability to keep quiet, the whining, the bargaining. And the sloppy kisses, the "wuv you"'s, sitting next to me on the couch, the tiny tea parties, the crayon portraits on the refrigerator. I suppose then I'll just crank up the "grand kids" guilt trip?...

"Meet" me?

If my children have to get sick, I beg providence to make it happen on days when Dr. Tomkoria, their regular doctor, is in the office. If her 'alternate' partner tells me, once more, that it's "nice to meet" me, I might get a touch smug. I wondered for a serious second today if she might suffer from selective memory loss.

Emery's first sniffles. I always feel rotten when these tiny guys get sick. As if I break open their life supply of health and it starts to inevitably leak, little by little. Hope weekend brings these guys some R&R and general betterment, since Maya and Bug are also demonstrating signs of micro-congestion. Sigh. Welcome, silly fall weather.

On the subject of Maya and Jack

Jack, tinkering around this morning as I get ready: "Maya, take me potty."

Maya assumes her very convincing motherly tone. "OK Jack. Let's go."

Two sets of micro-footsteps head to the toilet while I'm getting ready in the bathroom. I hear: "What do you need, Jack?" Then to me, with direction: "Mama - I need step stool for Jack. OK, thank you." Back to Jack: "Did you do it? Good. Now, try to poop. Mama would be so proud of you if you pooped into the potty!"

[Dear children: yes, I'm aware you may read this when you are teenagers and get all snooty with me. I'm OK with that and take my chances. Besides, just wait, there's a point to this lovely story.]

I set out clothes for Jack and hear the "Maya do it!" refrain. So in short, by the time I'm ready, so is he... Oh what good tidings this brings. I only wonder now for how long I can make this blessed circumstance last. 

The two of them are a special pair. When asked who their best friend is, they - independently and without prodding - name each other. Jack asks about Maya's whereabouts at least once on the way to preschool and just as consistently laments her now-absence from his daily surroundings (last year their preschool classes had a shared fence and they got to see each other daily while there). Maya runs to greet him as the mass of the minivan's door slides out and he is revealed as we get home. 

I cherish this friendship. I am convinced that children often act as they perceive themselves expected to act. I maintain, and communicate to them, as a given that they share a very special bond that is to be respected and upheld, and that's how they process their relationship to date. I pray earnestly that this magic thing between them survives their adolescence and serves them very well into adulthood. 

And on that note, I'm looking forward to see them get into their first 'official' shared activity - I have registered them for swimming classes for two months. The time is less than ideal (9am on Saturdays), but I think it would be a great way for them to do this together, and learning water safety has long been a priority of mine for them.

On the matter of coasts

So today, hearing for the umpteenth time how laid-back and pleasant Emery really, really is, an old soul so expertly performing in her five months of life, I have finally figured it out.

She's the only child born on the West Coast. And in the Northwest, at that, where emotional stability is decidedly more German than Mid-Southern. The rest of American-born family has taken root east of the Mississippi, and their personality undertones are certainly on the East Coast side of the spectrum. Throw in my own Russian Cossack bits, and no wonder Emery has chosen to be our familial Switzerland, neutral, and so amazingly cool and, in all aspects, pleasant.

In other news, Jack is turning into the final stretch of potty training [Oh Happy Day!] and Maya finished her first week of kindergarten with her most pressing memory being that of winning 600 (!) arcade tickets at Big Al's. This duo continues to jive and bond more daily, and watching them dole out small kindnesses to each other regularly and without parental solicitation soothes my heart.

Tonight for the first time Jack insisted on a bedtime prayer that covered more ground than his usual profound "GOD AMEN!!" multi-decibel declaration, and it went something like this:

"God thank you for good food and when Mommy and Daddy come don't push them Amen."

...Can I get an 'Amen'?!

 Separately and seriously, it is humbling to observe his sister's budding faith and prayer life start to take root in Jackman. Much wisdom is allotted to us very early in life, which we manage to lose almost entirely for the duration of our adult lives, only to possibly regain its vestiges in old days.

Kindergarten

Appropriately, I try to reignite my blogging efforts as my oldest sweet offspring departs for her first day at kindergarten. So I'll stick with time-worn excuse of 'better late than never' and proceed with actual memories.

Maya went forth into her K grade as she does into everything else, now - eyes wide open, curious and eager and excited. When I asked her if she was nervous, she furrowed her brow in confusion, and gave me the "I think you have two heads" puzzled look which I observed in the rear-view mirror of my motherly matron of a minivan. Child didn't even comprehend my question. All she knew was new backpack! New friends! New things to do! Promises of learning to read! Let's recall, after all, that it was her mother advertising her introverted-ness via a blog name - not this here kiddo. My prayer for her today is that it takes as long as possible for the generally crooked world around her to knock down some of this life enthusiasm - and that by then, she can competently fight back with her own faith and dreams.

Separately elsewhere in the universe, Jack had a drop-off meltdown in his new class on Day 2, and Emery continues to humble my socks off by her ridiculously exceptional even-keeled attitude and general disposition of a true flower child. I remain convinced, and now confide this in her while changing her diaper, that time will come still when I will learn things from her in, and for, life.

What a unique sibling concoction. They ought to be quite a trio once they emerge into adulthood. But I can wait. No hurry, really. Back to this generally crooked world thought.