The way they see things

I'm pretty sure most kids her age draw pictures of people the same way my daughter does. They're cute little characters, with their long awkward arms and legs protruding from various points on their oversized heads and their comically large features. But they don't even remotely resemble people. Bugs, maybe. But not people.

I realize that Abby's total inability to draw people properly is perfectly normal for her age.

I also realize that most bad habits can be corrected.

And so, with the help of my handwriting curriculum and a little model nicknamed Mat Man, we set out to learn how to draw some proper people. We first built people out of wooden blocks, then attempted to draw them, aided only by a few simple verbal instructions.

We succeeded. In less than 10 minutes, Abby went from this:

to this:

And Caleb, who has only recently started drawing his own awful bug-people, created this:

Not bad for a first try.

This might be my proudest teaching moment to date.

Bucket list

Number three: Learn to ride a bike.

A real bike, she insisted.

With pedals.

Like the big girls across the street.

Because they get to ride super fast and go around and around in the cul-de-sac.

Go get 'em, Abby.

Meanwhile, Caleb is totally digging his new hand-me-down balance bike.

I thought I told these kids to stop growing up. Apparently, they're not listening to me.

Frogs and mashed potatoes

While her friends seem to be requesting princess parties and Hello Kitty cupcakes this year, our little birthday girl is a little, well, quirky. Always has been. She didn't want a pink cake, and she didn't want to dress up for her party. Her requests, in fact, were very, very simple.

"My two favorite things are frogs and mashed potatoes," she told me, when I asked a while back what kind of birthday party she'd like to have for her friends and family. So I did what any good mom of a frog-loving, mashed potato-eating birthday girl would do.

I planned and executed what I'd like to think is the world's first four-year-old Frog and Mashed Potato party.

My friend Rebekah of Lollie Cakes whipped up some amazing froggy cake pops for our little shindig, and Justin spent the afternoon peeling 10 pounds of potatoes for our mashed potato bar. We set out toppings of bacon, sour cream, crunchy onions, pulled pork and more, and the kids each enjoyed a plate of custom mashed potatoes before chowing down on the most adorable cake pops they'd ever eaten.

The rest of the time was spent controlling the chaos of five little girls and one little brother as they climbed in and out of Abby's new bed tent and played countless games of ring around the Rosie with one of our guests named Rosie before collapsing in fits of laughter.

When the sugar kicked in, we took the girls (and Caleb, who either didn't notice or didn't mind that he was so outnumbered) outside where Abby went for a spin on her new big girl bike (with pedals...an upgrade from the balance bike she's had for so long) while her friend Neely coached her and Justin followed close behind.

A good time was had by all, as evidenced by the sugar crash and excellent night's sleep that followed quickly on the heels of our guests' departure.

Special thanks to Neely, Mazzy, Eliza and Rosie for making my daughter's fourth birthday party so much fun!

Thriving at four

She left us very specific instructions for how her birthday should begin.

"When it's time to get up in the morning," Abby told us on the eve of her big day, "I won't get out of bed. You can come in and sing 'Happy Birthday' to me."

And that is why, at 7:15 this morning, we tip-toed into our daughter's room with a giant frog balloon in tow.

Because she loves frogs. And because she's four now.

"I think my hands are a little bigger now that I'm four," she explained, examining her extremities as she rose from her bed. The day went on like that, with Abby observing things that were somehow different--bigger, easier, better--since she hit this magical Big Girl milestone.

Suddenly she can carry plates and glasses to the table with ease. She's very proud of herself for this. She can also smooth out the lumps in the insoles of her shoes left behind by hasty shoe removal. This, too, is possible because she's four now, apparently.

It's better to be four, she tells me. Then, remembering that Caleb is only two, she reassures him that three wasn't all that bad, and he'll be there very soon.

She's not the only one who's noticing things are a bit different. I've been realizing that parenting a big girl is less about crisis management and disaster recovery and more about putting myself out of a job. We're long past the days when I felt I was just in survival mode. We're thriving now, and so is Abby. She is a little bigger, a little more capable, and growing more so day by day.

On her annual Daddy-Daughter Birthday Breakfast, she outlined some goals she has for the upcoming year. She wants to learn to read, she told him. She wants to learn to swim by herself. And she wants to learn to ride a big girl bike.

She began her official countdown to her fifth birthday today, and doesn't seem at all phased that she only has 364 days left to meet her goals. Don't worry, I tell her. We'll help you.

While she learns to read, and swim, and pedal, I'll be learning how to give her a little bit more freedom, a little bit more responsibility, and a little bit more space to become the Big Girl she's going to be. I'll still be guiding, and teaching, and correcting. But if I'm doing my job right, she's going to be needing me a little bit less year by year.

It's bittersweet, to be sure. But so exciting at the same time. Watching my kids grow and learn is the best part of my job. And having a front row seat to all of Abby's biggest moments--from first steps to putting on her own shoes and every other milestone--is one of God's greatest gifts to me as a mother.

So happy birthday, sweet Abby! I can't wait to see what unfolds for you this year.

And no matter how big you get, you'll always be my little girl.

Hit the road

I guess until he's old enough for his own manly set of Power Wheels, Jacob will have to settle for hitching a ride on his sister's girly Barbie ATV.

Thankfully, he has a sister who is very willing to share. For a while at least.

"That's enough, Mommy," Abby stated when Jacob started to get a little fussy. "I think it's too pink for him."

He makes it look easy

Drinking from a sippy cup? Check.

Stealing toys from your siblings? Check.

Is it just me, or is this baby cruising through these milestones with a little too much ease?

Made for each other

If I had an iced mocha for every time someone asked me if they're twins, I'd be a very caffeinated mom.

When they're standing still, it becomes pretty obvious that Abby stands a head taller than Caleb, 17 months her junior. But most of the time they aren't standing still, so I can understand the confusion.

Because these two, it seems, are absolutely made for each other. Caleb usually wakes first in the morning, comes downstairs, sets up his trucks, then heads back upstairs to wait for Abby. He's never had much of an opportunity to play trucks all by himself, and doesn't really seem to want to. (Although the debate of whose trucks are whose is expected in any good round of truck-playing.)

Abby builds towers for him to drive under and garages for his dump truck. Caleb piles tea cups and plastic cake on the back of his tow truck and hauls them to whatever spot Abby deems appropriate for their next party.

For most of the day, they function as a unit, referring to themselves as a "we" or an "us" in their conversations.

"Let's go upstairs and play in our room!" Abby will suggest.

"We're gonna play with wooden blocks," Caleb will inform me.

The danger in this, of course, is that they've so fine-tuned their relationship that they can get into trouble twice as quickly, without the need to communicate all the minor details of how to set up a diving board on the bed using the couch cushions, or how to move the entire contents of one sibling's closet into the other's closet.

But the benefits of their friendship far outweigh the risks, and in general I find that they do each other far more good than harm. They're learning how not to tattle, and more and more I overhear them reminding each other that mommy said not to do that rather than seeking out parental intervention. They share well, for the most part, and are quick to recognize when the other is unhappy and retrieve a blanket or stuffed animal to cheer them up.

They can get on each other's nerves, to be sure, and as Abby inches closer to her fourth birthday she's desiring more and more time to herself, to play or look at books quietly in her room without her rambunctious brother glued to her hip. And I'll sometimes catch Caleb surreptitiously moving all of his trucks from the playroom into his closet to keep his sister from borrowing one. But it never lasts, and eventually I'll find them both in the same room again, Abby with her books, and Caleb with his trucks, playing separately, but needing to be closer to one another.

I really couldn't ask for more.

Not so back to school

So far, so good.

Our first week of Pre-K was a success, I'd say. And considering our school days only last about an hour each, I should be able to keep up with with my new standard of excellence.

I'm adopting a new approach to school this year that I'm calling a "lifestyle of learning." (I like to lift my chin slightly when I say this, waving my hands in the air with a great deal of flourish.) We'll still do our letter crafts--this week we stamped frogs with green thumbs--but instead of the dedicated school days that we set aside each week last year, we're setting aside a little bit of time each day to do our more focused Pre-K activities (worksheets, handwriting, reading preparation, etc.). Coincidentally, our school time coincides exactly with Jacob's morning nap, which, I'll admit, makes my teaching moments a lot simpler.

Outside of that, we're planning to work through the 21 Rules of This House this year, spending as much time as needed on each one, coloring worksheets that illustrate each rule and giving the kids plenty of time to role play how they're supposed to act toward one another.

We're using the Handwriting Without Tears program to work through the uppercase alphabet. And though Caleb thinks he's in Pre-K too, and tags along with all of our other activities, this is one of the things from which he's exempt. As smart as he is, and as well as he follows along with Abby's curriculum, I have to keep reminding myself that he's only 2, and technically he wouldn't be in preschool until next year anyway. So the extent of his handwriting lessons this year will be holding a pencil properly. So far he's doing great. If he learns a few letters along the way, I won't complain.

For scripture memory, I've decided to reinforce the verses Abby's working on in her Big Kid Sunday School class instead of introducing new ones. We're also going through an awesome book as a family called Long Story Short, a collection of short devotions that will take us through the entire Old Testament in a year and a half. The kids are loving this book so far, and the lessons are perfect for their ages. The scripture selections are short enough to hold their attention, and the follow-up questions really help them understand what we've read. I can see this book being a favorite for years to come.

And for the second year, we're using the Sonlight curriculum and its fantastic selection of children's books to guide us through our school year. It puts a smile on my face to see that my kids love seeing a new book on the shelf as much as I do. Now if I can just keep us from finishing our entire year's worth of stories in the first few weeks, I think we'll be okay.

Out of the mouths of babes

I'm the last person to give my kids credit for their baby-stage talking. Baby babbling is cute, but unless those sounds are associated with a particular object or directed at a specific person, they are merely sounds that resemble words in my book. "Ba-ba" is not ball, unless he's pointing at a ball and saying it. Consistently. Likewise with all the other "first words" we moms like to claim for our genius children. Abby's first word was "duck" and she was pointing at a duck when she said it. Caleb's was "nana" and I fed him bananas for months until he learned to ask for other foods.

So yesterday, when Jacob started babbling an endless stream of "blah-blah-blah-blah" it was adorable, but I was not ready to admit he was talking just yet. When he interrupted his rant and it one time became "blah-blah-blah-ma-ma-blah-blah-blah," I was excited, because it's pretty stinking adorable to hear a kid say Mama, whether he means it or not. But talking? No. Until Mama means me--the food lady, the diaper changer, the picker-upper of stray toys, the soother of crying babies--and he's using those syllables to get my attention, they are merely cute sounds.

And then today, he stole my heart.

He woke up this morning and carried on as if yesterday's conversation had never ended.

"Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah," he said when I scooped him up from his crib.

"Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah," he continued while I changed his diaper. The blah-ing took on a sense of urgency as he watched the methodical preparation of his bottle, then turned back to happy blahs once his tummy was full.

"Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah," he chirped, asking to be put down so that he could play with Abby and Caleb. And since he communicates so clearly, what with the blah-ing and the back-arching and the reaching for the floor, I put him down like he wanted.

He stared up at me for a second, flapped his little arms like he does when he's not getting his way, puffed his little lip out and stared up at me with those big brown eyes.

"Mama! Blah-blah-blah! Mama!" The cries were urgent, they were plaintive, and they were directed at me. I scooped him back up.

"Where's Mama?" I asked. He looked in to my eyes and planted those fat little baby hands on my cheeks.

"Mama! Blah-blah-blah-blah! Mama!"

Mama. His first word. And music to my ears.

Tiny Dancer

After a long break, she's back in the pink leather slippers and twirling like she never missed a beat.

This biggest difference in this class and the one she took two years ago? She actually sat still for the pre-class picture this time.

I'm adding my daughter dressed up for her first day of 4-year-old ballet to my list of cutest things ever.

Big Church

The pages are edged in pink, and we inscribed her name on the inside cover.

If ever there was a way to instill a love of God's word in a three-year-old girl, this Bible is it.

We bought it for her to celebrate a milestone. Much to Abby's delight, she's graduated from little kid Sunday School to elementary Sunday School, and gets to spend the first part of the service each Sunday sitting with mom and dad in "big church."

Sunday mornings truly are a little taste of heaven for her now. Pink Bible. Big kid Sunday School. Mom and Dad all to herself. Standing on chairs. Singing her favorite hymns. Loudly.

As with any new privilege, there are a few new rules to learn as well. For instance, when the pastor bows his head and says "Let us pray," we're going to need to remind her that she doesn't need to start praying out loud as soon as everyone is quiet.

Church just got a lot more exciting.

It's genetic

The two things I hear most from my 2.5-year-old son are "Mommy, watch this!" and "Mommy, you're not watching!" To my credit, he leaves barely enough time for a breath in between the two statements. Generally it's not so much that I'm not watching, but that I haven't had any time to turn my head in his direction yet.

But this time, I looked just in time to catch Caleb showing off his newest skill. We have no idea how he learned it, or how and when he realized he could do it. Just like his daddy, Caleb can roll his tongue. And just like his daddy, he's going to taunt his mommy with his odd talent and ask repeatedly why I can't do it.

Abby has decided that since she can't do it, it must be something only boys can do. She's resolved herself to waiting until Jacob's second birthday to ask him if he can roll his tongue, too.

For now, we'll have to content ourselves with watching Caleb walk around cross-eyed trying to see what it is we all think is so funny. And hope he doesn't trip over anything and bite his tongue off in the process.

Good company

I really enjoy their company. It's true. Even when they're exhausting, even when they're whining, even when they seem to be trying to peck me to death like a pack of feral chickens, I really enjoy being around my kids.

It doesn't always make sense, but I try to just go with it.

My personal space has long been a thing of the past. What they demand is an "I-wanna-sit-on-your-whole-lap" kind of attention from mom.

Apparently, I would love to play blocks with you instead of cleaning up the breakfast we finished hours ago. And yes, I would love to come to your imaginary tea party instead of drinking the actual mocha that I have spent all morning trying to make. And yes, I would love to let you pile blankets over me and drive your cars on top of me, because obviously, mommies make the best mountains.

As trying as it can be, I like their confidence in how much I like them. There is no doubt in them, no shred of low self esteem. I can only conclude that I've done a fairly good job of showing them how much they really mean to me.

And that is why I was caught so off-guard by the comment of my cashier at Target. As I loaded school supplies into my buggy full of children, I politely answered her questions and explained that, no, I didn't have anyone starting school this year, and no, I wasn't planning on sending anyone to kindergarten or preschool next year either. She could have kindly nodded. She could have given me an understanding smile.

But instead, she looked right at me and gestured to these precious children of mine and reassured me, "Well, bless your heart, you'll be ready to send 'em away by next year."

Excuse me? My kids are right here. They can hear you.

I had only a moment to respond. Only a moment to negate that statement so that my kids didn't think I was counting down the days until I could send them away. Abby gave me a look that asked, "Away where?"

So I looked cashier lady square in the eye, then patted my daughter reassuringly on the head.

"Actually," I responded, "I really like having them around. We have a lot of fun together."

And I meant every word of it.

And with that reassurance, we're kicking off a year of Pre-K next week.

The School of Mommy is back in session.

They don't stay little

The first time he did it, his life flashed before my eyes. And not because I worried he might pull the refrigerator over on himself. (That didn't cross my mind until I looked back at the picture.)

What I saw was not the past nine months, but all the years ahead. As Jacob sped across the kitchen floor to get a good look at the cute baby on the front of the refrigerator, then slowly pulled himself up, giggling while the baby in the fridge did the same, I saw all the steps he's soon to take.

If he keeps this up, it won't be long before he's standing on his own.

Then he'll start walking.

And soon he'll be running through the backyard with his brother and sister.

Then he'll walk out the front door for his first date.

And I'll blink, and he'll be strolling arm-in-arm with his bride, and walking hand-in-hand with kids of his own.

(If you think I'm overreacting, I'm going to assume you don't have kids yet.)

So stop it, Jacob. Stop it right now. I am not ready for you to grow up yet.

Dressed for the occasion

My eldest has a way of asking questions that really make me think. And often, she asks them at the most inappropriate time.

For example: Standing in front of the entire congregation of our church, while they are all quietly listening to the pastor discuss the meaning of baptism, is not the most opportune time to ask, quite loudly, "Why is Jacob wearing a dress?"

But it's a good question, and deserves an answer. We dressed our child in the family baptismal gown--the one Nana worked so hard on, and the one worn by all my children--because baptism is a special ceremony, much like a wedding, and special attire suits the occasion. But aside from that, nothing happened on Sunday.

Rather, I should say, nothing supernatural happened on Sunday. It is a sweet ceremony, to be sure, and significant insofar as it is commanded by God that we, as Christian parents, baptize our infants. But it did nothing to change our son's status as a sinner before a holy God.

"For by grace you have been saved through faith.

And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast."

-Ephesians 2:8-9

It will be a while before Sunday's sprinkling ceremony means anything to Jacob. It carries weight for his dad and I, because we stood before our family and the family of believers in our church and promised to raise this child to know and love the Lord. We pledged to pray with and for him, and now we trust God to be faithful to His covenant, to work in our son's sinful heart, to soften it and change it so that one day Jacob will come to a saving knowledge of Christ's work on the cross for him.

I pray anxiously for that day. And when that day comes, and God grips my son's heart with his irresistible grace, it will be a joy to look back with him and tell him about the day he received the sign of God's covenant promise, and to celebrate God's faithfulness in keeping His promise to bring Jacob to salvation through faith.

That is, after all, why he wore the dress.

Falling on my head

They woke from their naps just in time to see the first drops of a summer shower turn into a torrential downpour.

"Mommy," exclaimed Abby, face pressed against my once-clean windows, "it's raining!"

And in a moment of temporary insanity, I replied, "Who wants to go with me to get the mail?"

A chorus of "Me! Me!" was my answer. Jacob sat on the floor, flapping and giggling as if he understood. I left him inside with his dad (the sane ones, apparently) and quickly dressed the kids in rain jackets and boots, as if proper attire might somehow keep a two and three year old dry in a rainstorm.

Caleb, I should mention, has no boots, so I sent him out barefoot. The end result was the same. Caleb's feet were soaked from jumping in puddles, and Abby's were soaked from running around in boots that filled with water within minutes. For the record, rain boots are only worthwhile if the rain is not falling from the sky.

They loved every minute of it. And I loved watching them love every minute of it.

Except for the part where they were drinking the water pouring out of the gutter. That minute I could have done without.

And for the record, we never made it to the mailbox. It was raining too hard.

Summer goodness

Georgia peaches are good.

But ice cream is better.

This baby agrees.