My Friday Night Happy Hour: Pizza, Popcorn and a Pig Pile

Of all the routines in my life, one of the most important to me is Friday night. That is my Happy Hour, although it involves no bar.

Happy Hour for me is Movie Night: pizza, popcorn, and a pig pile of kids on the couch.

We started Movie Night a year ago. I think it all began with sheer exhaustion. Without fail, every single week I am completely wiped out by Friday night. All I want to do is just sit on the couch and zone out. I don’t want to make a fancy meal, I don’t want to have a discussion about table manners, none of it. I just want to sit and not feel obligated to do anything.

All I want is to just throw a pizza in the oven and watch a movie…

Hey, why don’t we don’t that…

So, out of that weekly exhaustion was born one of the routines that our whole family looks forward to the most: Movie Night. Turns out, at the end of a week, we ALL just want to sit and hang out and do nothing.

My four-year-old has a calendar with simple labels so he can keep track of days. School days are marked with “S” and on Fridays, I drew a little picture of our television to show Movie Night. Every time he sees that day, he cheers. Our two-year-old reacts the same way: she says “Movie night!” in the same excited and relieved way that she says “You’re home!” when someone returns.

We all need a mental break, snuggle time on the couch, and easy food. It’s the one meal a week that we don’t eat at the table. We make popcorn and pizza and head to the living room.

Three kids in a flurry of gobbling olives and making pizza creations.

Three kids in a flurry of gobbling olives and making pizza creations. (Groceries still not put away from the afternoon trip to the store.)

Pressing out the dough

Relaxing on movie night is special enough that my kids often dart upstairs to put on their “movie night pants:” soft, fuzzy pajama pants that feel so comfy after a long week. Then we turn on a movie. Sometimes, we just pick something from Netflix that is family friendly (keeps the kids entertained, but doesn’t drive Jarred and me crazy with boredom).

My favorite nights are the times when I find a classic, something we watched as kids. It’s so much fun to share E.T., The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, and The Andy Griffith Show with our kids. I love watching something familiar, but seeing it with new eyes from an adult perspective while at the same time, getting the joy of watching our kids see it for the first time.

Just last week, we watched Swiss Family Robinson. Growing up, that movie was a family staple. We watched it over and over and over. We quoted lines. Seeing it again after about a 20 year gap, I see lots of flaws in the storyline. But through the eyes of my kids, I can suspend disbelief. Of course it is perfectly reasonable (and totally fabulous) for a little boy to snare a wild baby elephant and make it a tame pet in the next scene. Why couldn’t a clever family fight off a band of pirates?

Watching the opening scene at the kids' picnic table as the pizza bakes.

Watching the opening scene and munching popcorn at the kids’ table as the pizza bakes.

And best of all, my kids completely cracked up at my very favorite part. During the pirate attack, the lead pirate picks up a coconut bomb, and examining it, says something that sounds like “coconut” in another language, “Doydoynut?”. Then, dismissing it as nothing “Eh…” he tosses it behind him, where it explodes right in front of another bad guy pirate, who gets blasted back. In true Disney style, there is no blood shed, just comedy.

My seven-year-old read Swiss Family Robinson and then watched the movie last year at school, so she prepped her siblings ahead of time to watch for the “doydoynut” part. My two-year-old excitedly acted out the coconut scene and giggled. She told us that was her favorite part, which is impressive, since she hadn’t even seen the movie yet when she announced that.

So last Friday, when we got to the coconut scene, we backed up the movie three or four times to fully appreciate the “doydoynut” and laugh hysterically.

And that’s why I love movie night.

My kids sit in a big pig pile all over us on the couch. They fight over who gets Mom’s lap (a precious commodity). We hang out for two hours, and have no agenda other than just to be together. I sit and hug them and feel their cozy, warm smallness. My six-year-old who often tells me “I just can’t ever get enough of your hugs” fills up his hug bank on the couch.

Movie night...picture Mom wedged into that little open spot on the couch.

Movie night…picture Mom wedged into that little open spot on the couch.

And while we sit, the kitchen full of dishes just sits and waits, and so does the big pile of laundry upstairs.

Downstairs on the couch, I get to snuggle with my kids and teach them a few inside jokes from my childhood. So now I can say “A doydoynut? Eh…” and make them crack up, just the way I did with my siblings growing up.

I think that’s important. Sometime, I’m going to be a very old lady in the nursing home making a joke about a “doydoynut” and cracking myself up. And that’s when I’ll need my kids to step in and tell the nurses that I’m not crazy. Or maybe they’ll say that I’ve always been that crazy. That would be fine, too.

Movie Night Pizza Crust
On movie nights we started out just throwing frozen pizza in the oven, but one night I decided to make pizza from scratch.

We discovered, like many things, homemade tastes better. I don’t know if I’m clever for making my own pizzas or an idiot for turning the one brain-dead cooking night into a cooking event, but we now make our own pizza. I mix up dough in the Kitchenaid mixer, and then each kid gets a dough ball and creates their own personal pizza while I make the big pizza.

Sometimes, you need a big brother to help flatten out your dough.

Sometimes, you need a big brother to help flatten out your dough.

It turns the table into a pizza topping mess and health code inspectors would arrest me for how often the spoon gets licked and then returned to the sauce bowl, but it’s really fun. It makes more work for me, but I love that my two-year-old can make her own pizza. I also noticed that when they make their own pizzas, they almost always clean their plates when eating.

The pizza crust is a make and bake recipe…no rising involved (no planning ahead needed). Once you’ve had a little practice, you can start completely from scratch and have a hot, baked pizza in about 35 minutes, which is not all that much longer than it takes to cook a frozen pizza. If you have lots of little helpers adding their own unique flair to the cooking process, it will take slightly longer.

This recipe makes enough dough for one thick-crust recipe, or one thin crust recipe plus four mini pizzas.

No-Rise Pizza Crust

1 cup hot water
1 pkg. yeast
1 tablespoon sugar
3 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons oil
corn meal

1. Add yeast and sugar to hot water, stir, and set aside.

2. Meanwhile, mix flour and salt. Add in the yeast mixture, which should be bubbly. Add oil. Mix well.

3. Mix with dough hook attachment on mixer or knead by hand for 5 minutes until dough is soft and pliable. (You can skip this part, but your crust won’t be as tender.  Five minutes of kneading is the secret to making dough that’s so soft and nice that you just want to roll in it.  We discovered this by accident when I left the mixer on and walked away, and it made the best crust ever.)

4. Sprinkle pizza pan lightly with corn meal to prevent sticking. (Do not skip that, you’ll regret it.) Roll out dough and add desired pizza toppings.

Bake at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Makes one pizza.

I like to use 1 cup of whole wheat flour with 2 cups all-purpose flour to give the dough a little more heft. I also often make Cheese-Stuffed Crust: Roll out the dough a good inch past the edge of the pan, sprinkle mozzarella around the perimeter, fold over the dough and seal it in. It makes a cheesy bread stick at the end of your piece of pizza…mmm…

Now, go forth and make pizza! Have a movie night!

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Of Sheep, A Dog, and Monday Morning‏

It’s a cold, windy, drizzly November morning. This is the sort of weather that really just makes me want to trade lives with Spot the dog.

My day began slightly before 5 AM, when my two-year-old woke up for the day. Her own internal clock, still stuck on daylight savings time, tells her it is 6 AM and time to be awake. Fifteen minutes later, her four-year-old brother with the same internal schedule also woke up for the day.

I also struggle with the time conversion. My trouble is that my internal clock is set to the Hawaiian time zone. At 6 AM, my internal clock says, “No, this is about 2 AM. You really should sleep for another four hours.” And then every day I wake up and find myself somewhere far from white sandy beaches, and four hours lacking in sleep.

I’m still waiting for that extra hour of sleep that we’re supposed to get from the clock conversion of “falling back.”

So today, I considered it a great triumph to get out of bed and get three kids ready for the school bus on time. Three kids dressed in clean clothes, combed their hair, ate a good breakfast, and left the house wearing shoes, warm coats, and backpacks. I strove to maintain the delicate balance of directing them to the tasks at hand “Honey, it’s breakfast time” without overly stressing them about the time crunch “AND THE BUS IS COMING!”.

At 7:30, after three rounds of hugs and “I love yous,” the bus pulled in the yard and they went off to school.

At times, I’ve seriously considered home schooling my kids. There are days like today, though, when the school bus in the yard is a colossal relief. I am truly thankful for an established public education system. In some ways, it’s amazing to me. I simply make sure my big kids are dressed and fed, and a bus pulls up and safely brings them to and from school. All day long, they learn, and I am grateful that it I don’t have to do it all.

Those thoughts were in my tired head this morning as I stood at the door and watched the bus pull out of the yard.

Then I glanced over at the couch and saw Spot, and I have to say, I instantly felt envious. Stretched out on a soft leather couch, he had just come downstairs after his peaceful night of sleep. He decided to start the day off with a nap.

Another day, another nap to take.

Another day, another nap to take.

He glanced up at me with a decidedly guilty look on his face. The look said, “Yes, I am a total free loader. But could I just stay here on the couch anyway?”

I want Spot’s winter job.

In the summer, he stays fairly busy. He lives outside, chases the UPS man, pees on tires, rolls in sheep poop, and acts as our security alarm by barking at every vehicle that pulls in the driveway. That job doesn’t really appeal to me.

I would however, like his winter job. Spot moves back in the house, and he goes on the dole. Other than outside bathroom breaks, he spends his days lounging for hours on end. He sleeps on the couch. He sleeps tucked away in the secret hiding place under the table in the sun room. Sometimes, he mixes things up and sleeps on a pillow that fell on the floor. If Spot and I could just trade jobs for one day, I’d be so happy.

While Spot the dog lives like a king (an inbred mutt king, I suppose), we model our sheep after the White House.

Apparently, during World War I, Woodrow Wilson kept 18 sheep on the White House lawn. The sheep saved man power by trimming the grass, and even earned money through the sale of wool.

At our house, we didn’t get around to mowing our kids’ fenced in play area that one last time for the winter. Looking at sheep that still wanted to graze but didn’t have much fresh grass, we added the kids’ play area to the sheep pasture for the time being. The sheep trim down the grass by the tree swing and play set, and hopefully, by spring, all the free fertilizer will be worked into the ground.

It’s very presidential of us.

It’s also pretty amusing. There’s something very entertaining about looking out the kitchen window and seeing sheep graze just a few feet away, plucking up grass by the washline or tree swings. Every time, for a split second I think “Oh no, the sheep are out!”

Sheep grazing by the swings and playset...a sight I never would have predicted two years ago.

Sheep grazing by the swings and playset…a sight I never would have predicted two years ago.

And then of course, my mind wanders to the sheep I see in cartoons. In my head, I picture the sheep sneaking up on the trampoline when nobody is watching, four skinny legs and fat woolly bodies bouncing up in the air. I picture a sheep snickering as she shoves her buddy down the slide, four legs sticking straight up in the air with a woolly back going down the yellow slide. Someday, maybe I’ll catch them in the act.

So, that’s life on a Monday morning. My oldest kids headed off to school, the sheep are doing who knows what at the playground, and the dog is gearing up for a full day of napping. I’m pondering a cup of coffee, but from the bathroom, I can hear my two-year-old asking for help with toilet paper. And so, my week begins.

Shared this story on The Prairie Homestead.

Beware the Purple Footprints

I knew it wasn’t good when the first thing I saw was a purple footprint on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. I followed the purple footprint trail to the bathroom, where I could hear running water…

On the first day of school, I sent a ready and fairly willing first grader and second grader off on the bus. When the bus pulled away, my four-year-old son went peacefully back to watching Sesame Street. Meanwhile, my two-year-old daughter still slept upstairs.

7:15 AM: First day of school, two kids ready for a great new start to the year, heading off to 2nd grade and 1st grade.

7:15 AM: First day of school, two kids ready for a great new start to the year, heading off to 2nd grade and 1st grade.

It was so quiet.

My husband and I had a cup of coffee at the table and grinned at the silence. By the time we finished our coffee, my daughter woke up and wandered downstairs. Once she had something to eat, I headed upstairs to get the shower I’d been meaning to take since 6 AM.

I left my two kids happily watching Elmo and Big Bird, which generally means they are fully engrossed for at least long enough for me to take a shower.

In the shower, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. After a long summer, the new school year felt like a fresh start. It’s been five years since I taught in a school, but every beginning of the school year still gives me that excited feeling of fresh beginnings, learning, and new activity.

Standing in the warm water, I pondered a more peaceful existence and a more organized routine. I thought of fall coming, and cozying up to Friday movie nights and Saturday night pot roasts in the dining room. And feeling a little breathing room, I let my head roam to all of the projects I might get done this fall. In the short time since the bus pulled away, I already felt refreshed and ready to take on the world.

I should have known better.

It seems that my two-year-old had far too many creative juices flowing to just sit and idly watch television.

Soon after I stepped out of the shower, my four-year-old came in, casually telling me that his little sister was painting downstairs. Uh oh. I asked, “What’s she painting?” He shrugged his shoulders and wandered off. I don’t know if he wasn’t sure, or if he was too busy to answer, but either way, it didn’t ease my fears.

Still wrapped in a towel, I headed downstairs to inspect. I knew it wasn’t good when the first thing I saw was a purple footprint on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

I followed the purple footprint trail to the bathroom, where I could hear running water. In the bathroom, purple hand and footprints covered the toilet and went up across the bathroom counter.

The trail ended with a two-year-old, wearing fleece pajama pants while sitting in a sink. Water filled to the brim and sloshed over the sides as the faucet continued to flood still more water into the sink. My daughter sported a shirtless purple tummy as she diligently scrubbed purple feet with her purple hands.

8:30 AM: Painted toilet. Not exactly what I had in mind for a great start to a new school year.

8:30 AM: Painted toilet. Not exactly what I had in mind for a great start.

This was not quite how I envisioned my peaceful school year.

I cleaned off my artist, the toilet, and sink.

Then heading into the toy room, I discovered her primary “canvas,” our Hoosier cabinet. On the white cabinet door I found an impressive abstract finger painting in purple, pink, and green. It looked like the sort of thing someone young and industrious might accomplish in, oh, the length of time of a shower (once they climbed the cabinet and retrieved the paint from a high shelf).

I also discovered she used some of the “good” paint that doesn’t easily wipe off. Glittery purple paint apparently has an excellent pigment. When wiped with a damp rag, it “fades” to a neon fuchsia pink.

It’s episodes like this that make me think the universe has a little sense of humor. Just when I send two kids off to school and get a feeling like “Ah, life will be easy,” there is my two year-old, stepping up her game with a painting on the cabinet and purple footprints across the floor.

Granted, it could have been worse. It wasn’t ponds of chocolate syrup swirled all over the carpet. It also wasn’t an iron turned on and then left face down on the carpet until the smell of melting carpet fibers filled the house. No, it wasn’t as bad as other episodes I’ve seen with her older brother.

Looking on the bright side, the girl IS ambitious, and what a self-starter. While I showered, she engaged herself in experiential learning, used large motor and fine motor skills, studied the fine arts, and honed her problem solving skills.

Theoretically, that sort of learning activity is a teacher’s dream come true. But on the first day of school, when hopes are high for children’s future achievements, I just wish my daughter had a little less drive and creativity…at least while I’m trying to take a shower.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Written September 3, 2013.

Have you seen those containers of parched, bedraggled flowers baking on the sidewalks outside of stores?  Sometimes I feel a little like that.

At the beginning of summer, the flowers looked bright and fresh, ready for sunshine.  And now, they just look a little shriveled and tired.  I get it.

I don’t want to be dumped into the garbage after the first hard frost, but I am ready for a bit of a change.

Just another peaceful summer day on the porch, leisurely petting the cats.

Just another peaceful summer day on the porch, leisurely petting the cats.

This summer’s been a roller coaster of fun intermixed with losses in our family.  It’s been so much more and so much less than what I anticipated our summer might be.  It was the summer that I wrote thank you notes for memorials for my brother and laid rubber on Grandma’s driveway with the kids’ princess bike on the same day.

Traditionally, people sing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” around Christmas, but right now, I think I’ll sing those words for the big yellow bus pulling into the yard on the first day of school.

First day of school, 2012.

First day of school, 2012.

I’m ready for a little more quiet, a little more routine, and a little less heat.  (Yes, I realize that a school bus will not reduce the outside temperature.)  I’m ready for a little less cooking.  I’m ready for earlier bedtimes for kids.  I’m ready for a little less free ranging and a little more order.

This year, my four-year-old will head to preschool a few mornings a week.  On those mornings, I’ll have my three “big” kids, 7,6 and 4, all climbing on the bus. And that means I’ll only have my two-year-old daughter at home on those mornings.

What is the sound of one child playing?  (Isn’t that how the Zen question goes?)

I really can’t even imagine it.  It sounds really fun to just hang out with my little two-year-old sidekick for a little while.  And it also sounds so lonely.  What will she do when all of her favorite playmates climb on the bus?  She’s never been the only child in the house, ever.  And then as soon as I think of that, I just want to take back saying that I’m so excited for school to start again.

One of my very favorite parts of motherhood is watching the ways in which my kids interact.  I love watching the games they invent together.  All of a sudden, they are building a fort or a pirate ship or playing family.  Then someone’s pulling someone else on a makeshift trailer behind the trike.  Then it’s beauty shop time.  Then they are all kitties.

And then, of course, they fight.  Then they annoy each other, followed by bickering over insignificant things.  They are real, live kids after all.  It’s definitely not all Mary Poppins life around here, but we did have some triumphs and successes in the course of the summer:

-Potty Training #4.  For the first time in seven years, diapers and pull-ups are only worn during sleep.  Hallelujah.

-Growth.  I love seeing how much kids grow in the summertime, except when none of the pants in their dressers fit anymore.  My four-year-old son ate two eggs with cheese and a bowl of oatmeal on some mornings.  I can only imagine what I’ll have to cook when they are all teenagers.

Four cousins on a beautiful night at the fair.  (Always take pictures early on at the fair, while the kids are still smiling.)

Four cousins on a beautiful night at the fair. (Always take pictures early on at the fair, while the kids are still smiling.)

-Bountiful Tomatoes and Zucchini.  The rest of the garden is a big weedy mess.  It’s awful.  We planted a massive garden, and then in the midst of everything, it sat unattended.  Our tomatoes and zucchini are amazing, though.  I’m not really sure what else is in there and still alive at this point.  But hey, we have great tomatoes!  And zucchini!

Garden tomatoes

Garden tomatoes

-Homegrown Chicken in the Freezer.  For a first time project, we had great success raising chickens for meat.  And by next spring, we’ll should have over 50 laying hens making eggs for us.  Wow.  Uh, anyone have any empty egg cartons?

-Family Time.  More than anything, the best thing we did this summer is hang out with our family…a lot.  Bonfires, pool time, days at the Mississippi, a trip to Jellystone, Sunday meals, sleepovers, and impromptu gatherings of all sorts filled many of our summer days. In the midst of hard times, there is safety in numbers.  There is also plenty of laughter.

My sisters, Karen Davis and Sue Kramer, taking the mini golf world by storm this summer.

My sisters, Karen Davis and Sue Kramer, on the Fuchsia and Black Team.  Taking the mini golf world by storm during our vacation at Jellystone.

-Acting in a Movie.  Speaking of laughter, my daughter and I have our “big” movie debut in “Cinderella” is coming up soon!  “Silent Movies in the Park After Dark” is on September 14th and 15th at dusk at the city park in Lanesboro.  Just to refresh your memory, ordinary locals star in these locally produced family-friendly films, and the event has free admission.  Just bring a lawn chair and blanket if it’s chilly.

Happy back-to-school season, everyone!  Thanks for watching out for children as you drive the roads.

Giving my Kids Nothing This Summer

I love my kids and I try to do my best.  The trouble is, it’s easy to think “best” and “more” are one and the same.  They are not.

My original plan this week was to write about our summer list of things to do, you know, to feel like our family has a “successful” summer. Making plans and writing to-do lists does have value. It helps me get things done. But sometimes, a to-do list is a load of garbage.

I can’t speak for past generations of mothers, but in the circles I run in of moms with kids at home, we spend a lot of time trying to do it all right. We try to make meaningful memories, create precious moments, provide engaging learning opportunities, all that. But maybe, just maybe, we need to try less hard, too.

Tree swing: an essential component of doing nothing this summer.

Tree swing: an essential component of doing nothing this summer.

My oldest child is just finishing first grade. What do I remember about my summer after first grade? The only specific thing I remember was that I had short permed hair that my grandma said looked like Shirley Temple. In the summer time I would go days on end without combing it. Much of the time my hair looked more like a rumpled Afro than Shirley Temple’s ringlets.

Combing my hair? What a waste of time.

I had ant hills to smash on the edge of the driveway. I needed to make sure I was the one who raced down to the mailbox first when the mailman came around noon, a highlight of the day. I was busy riding my bike down the field lane and learning to ride down the gravel on the driveway without wiping out and scraping up my knee.

I don’t remember many other specifics, because the summers growing up all sort of blend together in a sort of sweaty, Kool Aid, dandelions, swimming in the freezing water at Whitewater kind of way.

On a visit to Whitewater a couple summers ago, I spotted a mom lugging a huge plastic tote down to the beach while trying to wrangle her kids. The tote was neatly labelled “BEACH TOYS.” I imagined her pulling it from it’s special shelf in the garage and loading it up in the van. As she emptied it, out came every sort of wonderful beach implement imaginable.

Part of me admires that sort of amazing, logical organization. And part of me just wants to puke. That level of perfection is just too much. Many of the toys didn’t get touched.

Seeing that tote made me think of my own days as a kid playing at Whitewater. When we made the trip there as a kid, if I wanted a sand toy, it was my job to get it. If I brought something, it was probably an empty Cool Whip container from the cupboard. Fairly often, we just went there with nothing. Sometimes we dug a pop can out of the beach garbage can to use as a digging toy and water carrier.

No tote full of toys, and we were happy at Whitewater. Very likely, my next older brother suggested we were superior in some way because we were kids that could make our own toys. He was good at always making us feel like we were part of some sort of secret elite force of little survivors.

Sand, water, kids. What else do you need at the beach?

I tell this to remind myself that when it comes to kids, less is often just as good as more. A big tote full of toys is fun, but so are hands, sticks, and rocks.

Sometimes I’m like that mom lugging the tote. I love my kids and I try to do my best. The trouble is, it’s easy to think “best” and “more” are one and the same. They are not. It is a fine line to balance between wanting the best for your kids and crippling them because they get everything they want. Innovation and ingenuity often comes from those moments of creating something out of nothing.

I want to give my kids more “nothing.”

A few nights ago I spent 15 minutes hauling boxes up to the attic. While I was up there, three of our kids played out on the porch. I came down to find discover three kids completely enmeshed in their own imaginary world of playing house. I said hi and then ignored them in that sort of way that doesn’t make them self-conscious of a viewer, putting on a show for mom. They did their thing.

My seven-year-old “Mom” decided it was bedtime, and put her two-year-old baby to bed. She tucked in her sister on the wicker couch using her favorite blanket. Then, while I got the mail and seemingly ignored them, I listened to my big girl sing a lullaby to her little sister, who pretended to sleep.

I don’t know if I’ve ever heard a sweeter lullaby than that one I heard that evening. There’s nothing on my summer list of fun activities that’s any better than that.

I give up.

And I think I probably should. We made a list of fun things to do this summer, but most remarkable is that what the kids want is pretty darn unremarkable. They want to go swimming. They want to have bonfires. They want cousins to come over and play. Simple things.

And that’s probably how it should be.

They’re little kids. Hot, sticky, endless summer days with messy hair, scraped up knees, dirty feet, popsicle drips and grass stains…that about covers it. Anything else is just details.

So, it’s settled. We’re doing nothing this summer.

To My Kids on Mother’s Day

To My Kids on Mother’s Day,

On Mother’s Day, I want to tell you thank you for making me a mom.  Some mornings when I come down the stairs I don’t look very excited to be awake and making breakfast, and some nights I ask you if we can switch places and you can put me to bed.  Sometimes you drive me crazy.  But the truth is, I wouldn’t trade you for anything.

My kiddos and I making the best of the crazy May snowstorm by building a snowman.

My kiddos and I making the best of the crazy May snowstorm by building a snowman.

To #1, my seven-year-old girl:  I am so amazed by you.  I love your artistic, creative projects and paintings that you make and your beautiful handwriting.  You are so helpful when you know I need an extra hand.  I’m proud to have a little girl who is so thoughtful and considerate of other people and genuinely kind.  You are fun and silly and calm and quiet.  You are a wonderful, responsible big sister.  I love getting to run with you.  I also love hearing you read with such expression, and I love that you read the other kids bedtime stories.  You are so good at understanding other people’s thoughts and feelings, well beyond your years.

To #2, my six-year-old boy:  I just love the way your mind thinks about things.  You have such a clever, organized, imaginative mind.  You are my boy who will probably help me learn how to be organized.  Even when you are so sleepy in the morning, you take the time to fold up your pajamas neatly.  I love how you can design buildings and mechanical things in your head.  I love your crayon drawings of tree houses that you color in deep, bright colors.  I love that you ask to play a board game, with just you and me.  I love your fancy bike riding tricks.  And do you know what I really love?  I love seeing how much you love your little sister.  You can always make her smile.

To #3, my three-year-old:  I love your sense of humor and your little jokes.  You make me laugh.  I love to see the projects you create using your two favorite things: strings and hooks.  You are so creative, and I can’t wait to see the things you will make when you get bigger.  You are a sweet boy with a kind heart.  Sometimes you look at me with so much love in your eyes that I can hardly imagine someone could love me so much.  I love watching you run.  You bounce and skip across the grass so lightly that you look like you are floating.  I can tell you are thinking a lot because you ask good questions and you use big words when you tell stories.  I like reading with you on my lap before nap time.

To #4, my girl that just turned two: How did we ever get such a great little girl?  You are such a loving little person.  I love watching you take care of your babies: rocking them, singing them songs, and making nice beds for them.  Everyone just falls in love with you because you’re so friendly.  You like being held by so many people and you will give a hug to anyone that needs one.  You are also such a smart and funny little girl.  I love your silly dances and how you tell knock knock jokes, even when you’re nursing.  You make me laugh.  I love when you tell me the bathroom floor is “hot lava” and I can’t touch it, or when you pretend I’m “baby monster” and you try to take care of me.

Being your mom is a lot of work, but all of you are also so much fun.  I love watching you grow and learn.  It’s fun to look back at pictures of you from when you were babies, and see how much you’ve grown.  I love to see you learning your letters and learning to read.  I’m proud of how you are learning that being part of a family means that we all need to help out and love each other, even if we don’t always get along.

You might not know it, but I learn a lot from you.  You teach me to give even when I’m tired, and you help remind me to have fun and enjoy the best things in life.  And one of the best things in life is being your mom.  Thanks for being my kids.  

Love, Mom