Dearest J:
Today you are three.  This picture is about 4 months old, but you look about the same, but with a shaggy head of hair.  It is shaggy, because you are strong willed and do not enjoy getting a haircut.  And I am weak, and don't have it in me to wrestle you while some stranger tries to a.)chase after your head with a sharp object, or b.) torture you with buzzers.  You love to GO to the hairdresser, but quickly decide you don't love the actual act of the hair cut.  Just the lollipops.  You're the first one to protest haircuts, btw.  Your older brothers have never put up a fight, not that I'm comparing.

This past year has been monumental for you.  You went from being extremely grumpy most of the time, to being my favorite 2 year old who potty trained himself in a day.  Yes a day.  And you became quite silly and funny and a joy to be around.  Lately you've gone back to your roots, but I still think you're my favorite 3 year old.  You love your big brothers.  You're still pretty fond of D and patient with him, even though he bites.   I love how you say "I loves you mama!"

You started talking about this time last year.  You talk a lot now, but I probably understand about 70% of what you say.  Other people only understand about 40% of what you.  Grandmom and Opa barely understand you at all.  What you do say is most often hilarious.  Like, "old mc donald had a farm, then he pooped on his lawn."  I have no idea where that came from.  Most of what you say sounds like it comes from an 8 year old with an attitude, cause I think you adore Q too much.  I love to look at you and find you adorable, even when you're trying to be mean.  You're too much with that blonde hair and blue eyes and long eyelashes.   I love how independent you are, and that you potty trained yourself (did I mention that already?) I love watching you play with B.  And how affectionate you are with D.  My heart could almost burst when you request that I sit next to you to watch a show, or when I watch you read a book with Q.  I love watching the brotherhood.  And I love watching you find your place with Q and B and D.

You're really into Cars and Toy Story, even the Incredibles.  Your request for your birthday was for a BIG Buzz Lightyear and a McQueen birthday cake.  And it was the first time I didn't make the cake myself, and feel a little bad, but you loved it anyway.

I'm pretty sure you are left handed, and I"m pretty sure Daddy is really excited about this.  He always wanted a left-hander in the family for baseball reasons.  Apparently a left-handed pitcher is a good thing? You're smart and curious, you can count to 15 which I think is pretty good.

Just so you know, we have you scheduled for baby dedication on November 10 this year.  I know you are not a baby, but I've tried at least 3 times to have you dedicated but someone was always sick.  So here's hoping we actually get it done this time.  Its not cause I forgot or am a slacker or anything.

J, I love you.  And I am blessed by you.  Have a happy 3rd birthday.  

Please Give Your Dearest Husband a Pass

  This may be a post full of stereotypes and assumptions, but here goes.  And I mean this in all silliness-sort of.
Everyone once in a while, just give your husband a pass.  Like when he forgets something important, or not important in the grand scheme of things.  When he's messy, or leaves his socks on the floor, or is just forgetful of the details.  Here's why.  His intentions and his motives are probably not to piss you off or make you feel bad, ruin your day.  He's not dumb.  Assume that his intentions are upright.  Assume the best of him, not the worst.  Why?  Cause he's not your enemy, but your partner, your teammate.  And how do I know this?  Well, cause most of the time, I am the forgetful husband.
Really.
This past monday was our 13th anniversary.  I know when our anniversary is, I love Scott, I am a woman, and I'm supposed to love romance.  But when Monday rolled around, guess who forgot to buy at least a card?  Or even have a plan for my man? ME.  Yes, I'm hanging my head in sorrow and shame, because I stink.  And then when the doorbell rang and a man delivered flowers to me from my beloved.  Who was it that frantically texted a friend for ideas as to what to do for him?  That was me.  And trust me, its not because I forgot entirely, nor because I don't care about him or love him.  I love that man more than any other person on this planet.  You might think its because I'm selfish or thoughtless, but that's not the case.  Most times when it comes to gifts for Scott, I often come up with nothing.  I lack imagination and creativity when it comes to things for him.  And I am distracted.  So distracted.  When I clean or cook or do anything that requires multiple steps or planning, it takes me so long.  Little people call my name.  I see something dirty, the sofa calls my name, a smell calls me to a diaper to change.  "I'm distracted", is an understatement.  ( In writing this post, I've stopped and started so many times, its taken the whole afternoon to write).  I thought about our anniversary many days in advance.  I contemplated surprises, and awesome gifts, but forgot most of my brilliant ideas the next day.  How does this happen?  For Christmas presents I started a list of ideas on my phone to remind me.  But at the moment, there's nothing on that list cause the awesome iOS update deleted all my apps, and their info.  Nice excuse right?
 Scott and I have many role reversals when it comes to male and female roles.  I guess I'm the lucky one here.  Actually, I know I am.  He does our laundry cause I'm not so detail oriented and I leave the clothes in the dryer too long.  He's the neat one.  I'm more of a free spirit shall we say.  My memory is fleeting, and his is not.  I heard Q tell his brothers that "Mom has a bad memory.  She can only remember when she was a kid, not what happened yesterday."  And that is the darn truth.  So when Scott gets frustrated that I forgot to get him the deodorant he needed, I hope he knows its not cause I don't love him or that he knows that I am not really dumb.  He does show me grace when these things occur.  I hope that I in turn show him grace for these things too.  And I beg you to give your husband a pass, if he happens to be be like me.  Trust me, I don't enjoy being the one that forgets.

I Always Wanted All Boys

I probably say this to a stranger at least once a week.  When they see me with the brood, and do not spy a girl.  They then ask, "are you trying again for your girl".  NOPE!  No thanks.  I never had a desire for a girl.  Probably cause deep down I have always admired boys and their way of doing things.  I had dolls growing up, but I was competitive and a tom boy and just related better to boys.  I"m sure some psychologist somewhere is stroking his goatee and saying to himself, "mommy issues."  But I don't care. Anywhoo.
I always dreamed of four kids and four boys.  And I'm shocked that I have it.  Blessed really.  However, I only had one brother.  And I never really witnessed the brother to brother relationships that occur.  And I did not expect the following things when it comes to boys.

-When angry, they hit, kick, punch and scream.  And then are over it.  This can happen in rapid succession, and I'm always amazed that they always go to bed best friends.
-The crazy running around these kids do at break of day.  Before I've had my coffee.
-The wrestling.  I cannot tolerate being in the room when this occurs.  Or the same house for that matter.  Its loud, and scary.  And I'm always telling someone not to hit the other, or be careful, and then I end up pulling them off each other and yelling at them to stop.  Even though they are all laughing and having a great time, I cannot take it.  "you're going to get hurt!"  I tell them they have to do this type of thing when its a boy's night (AKA, when I'm not home, and Scott it there).
-The love of dirt and digging.  B was so desperate for dirt this summer, he asked, I told him he could dig in the back yard where there was no grass.  We have a whole line of pine trees in the back where no grass grows.  I thought he understood that was where I meant he could dig.  But when I finished cleaning a bathroom and came to investigate, I found he chose a patch in our carefully manicured lawn by my groundskeeper (Scott), and set out to dig.  In a short time, he cleared a good hole and filled a bucket with dirt.  It was not by the back trees, rather right off the patio where a tiny patch of grass had turned brown.  I got in trouble for that one.  Whoops.  (note to self: Next time physically show him where its ok to dig. )
-And I'll leave this one up to your imagination, but my pediatrician put it this way.  "When you have boys, you don't need bath toys."
:)