Goodnight Sweetheart. It's Time to Go.

Here’s the dealio for everyone out there wondering what it takes to throw a 50-person birthday party for a 5-year old.

You're going to need some:
· Patience.
· Good Grandparents to take care of a stinky little 21 month-old while you wrangle the 5-year olds.
· A few dollars that you'd probably rather spend on a new pair of shoes, but that end up going towards pizza for, well – you know, 50 people.
· Advil for the post-party headache.

All that said, the party is over. We had a really, really great time. And it’s not often I say “really” twice in the same sentence. It's cuz I just love that boy.

Love his friends.

Love our friends.

Love family.

Love Harry Potter.

Love. Love. Love. It's all around.

Now we can just slide on into five like a well worn saddle. Or something like that. What I’m trying to say is that there will be no more presents or parties for a while. So I might need to choose another analogy. Hmmm. I’ll get to thinking on that.

All that said (and shown), here is my favorite image of the party. Stella pre-funking with Grandpa Jim. "Party's over here!"

Fab Five and the Mohawk.

Big party coming up. And I decided we should probably get the boy’s haircut before I take a million pictures of him this weekend. So off we trot to Beachcomber’s Kids Cuts. Where a kid gets to sit on a turtle, watch the movie of his choice and play with a toy while getting his hair cut (it's like a spa trip for the preschool set). So he gets a pretty cute “do” and then proceeds to ask the hairdresser for a mohawk (one of his friends came to school coiffed this way the other day). Not an unheard of request, apparentley, because she whips out the craziest hair gel I’ve ever seen and makes this masterpiece. Needless to say, he’s completely in love with it. And I ended up getting some of the magic gel to recreate the look at home. Because it’s good to have your child looking like a street punk as often as possible. Oh, well. Easiest way to make him happy I've seen in a while.
And, today he's 5. That boy. Dave and I took the day off to celebrate with him. He let us know that, “As long as we get to go to Burger King, I don’t care what else I do for my birthday.” Apparently we’ve been depriving him of Burger King meals. So off we trotted to BK and "Alice in Wonderland" in 3D. An excellent day was had by all.

His official party is on Saturday. Harry Potter theme. 18 children (that ridiculous number of attendees is the result of still being friends with old daycare mates, his love for his current preschool friends, and all the kids from our great circle of friends attending the pool/potter soirée). All that to say, I just spent up all the money I have on 18 pairs of little black glasses, lightning bolt tattoos and wands that light up…you know, so that it’s a true “Potter” experience for our guests. Money well spent. It should be big fun.


Sissy deals with all the fuss by drawing. Or crying. Our little Picasso drama queen.

One, Two, Three, Four

Stella's favorite song of all time (side note: all time = 21 months).

Chubby fingers squishing together in the "more" sign for this over and over again.

More. More. More.

Oh Say Can You See.

This was a long...short weekend. I went to visit one of the friends I've known the longest and love the most, B, in Washington DC. With good food (see above), good company (see above), a Georgetown basketball game and some unexpected, very nice walks around the city (see above), it turned out to be a pretty lovely 36 hours. And, topping it off, I had two stinky kids tackle me like football players upon my arrival back in Seattle on Sunday afternoon. And a tall Texan who watched the Oscars with me that night.

Feel free to rack up three good days for me on the reader board…

Me and the criminals.

I found myself at the King County courthouse today. Interesting spot at noon on a Monday, by the way.

We're registering Henry for Kindergarten (what?) this week, and needed a copy of his birth certificate. The original certificate is in a special place in the basement that has yet to reveal itself to us. And, if anyone asks, we’d like a file cabinet for Christmas.

After a few, precious moments with some of my new favorite crazy people on 4th and Jackson, the registrar handed me the certificate, stamped with some funky rainbow ink that made it “official.” Five years later and the words still make me happy to see:

Henry James Seward
March 16, 2005
2:29 PM
Swedish Medical Center
King County

That was one fantastic day, man. And one fantastic little fella.

Sunny Days. Chasing the Clouds Away.

A weekend of first novels and blueberries and pink crocs. I'm down with that.

A Walk in the Park

Year of the Tiger

Totally rad Chinese New Year party at Henry’s school. Including an emotional shot-through-the-hearts-of-parents-everywhere when Tom, Henry’s teacher, showed movies at the end of the party featuring stories the kids had made up and acted out. Henry’s movie was right out of the book of boys. Henry was Flash. His good friend Cohen was Bat Man. They saved the princesses in the castle and then they all got married and lived happily ever after. Dig that.
Go SeaDragons!

Spidergirl

A couple things I need to write down...just to remember. Henry says about a thousand funny things a day and I'll certainly never remember them all, but here are two recent pieces of oratoracle fireworks:
-He and I are laying on our bed, doing some reading before it's time for him to get into his own bed and sleep. I'm reading one of the horrible books in the Twilight series and he's reading a comic book that Dave had gotten him earlier in the day. He has turned to a page with a rather voluptous looking spider girl. And he says to me, "Hey, Mom. That's spidergirl. You know how I can tell she's spidergirl and not spiderman?" And I'm thinking...oh no... Then he says, "Her gloves. Spiderman doesn't wear THOSE kind of gloves." I kept a serious "that makes perfect sense" face, and thanked my lucky stars he's observant in different ways than he will be later on in life. :)
-Odd that the second story also has to do with spiderman. Good lawrd. We're watching the movie (he's only recently gotten to watch the movie and I still feel hesitant about some parts being to grown up for him, but he just looks at me when I start to talk to Dave about it and says, "MOM! It's just make believe) - anyway, watching Spiderman and spideys kisses the main girl in one short scene. And Henry says, - bless his pure, three-year old heart - "Why is he biting she's lips? He still confuses the word "she" and "her" sometimes - it's something I just refuse to correct because I love it so much. Anyway - sweet Henry.

Reading is fundamental

We zipped right through the holidays...making the trek with everyone over to Gramma and Granmpa Grave's house in the middle of what has been the biggest storm in as many years as I've lived here in Seattle. Henry had a great time with his cousins Andy and Emily - playing in the snow, wrestling, shooting at each other with Nerf guns. To that end, one of my favorite moments of the two family days there was when Greg was waking up on the couch and Henry sitting right below him - holding his new Nerf gun (pointed towards Greg), looking down the site saying, "Good Morning Greg." Dirty Harry would've been proud.
Stella did a pretty good job with the traveling. We think she's getting some teeth, so there was some whining, but all-in-all a very good experience with her. Lots of people to hold and love her. She's growing so quickly...getting strong, eating lots of solid food, and loving her brother more and more as the days go by.
Now we're back to normal - whatever that means. We sure like our gifts though...and the wrapping paper they came in.

Life Father. Like Son.

Seriously. This is exactly what Dave looks like when he's saying, "No, Jen - we need to go this way. It's right here on the map" (one of our first arguments was about a map, I think). Anyway, we were at the zoo today and Henry was letting me know that we were going the wrong way if we wanted to actually SEE the lions as opposed to just TALKING about seeing the lions. And here's how Stella enjoyed being told where to go...she's like me.

Pick a sport, any sport.

Henry played the role of athlete yesterday. We went to soccer in the morning (he loved his new kicked-back coach) and in the afternoon we went to "our" park by the middle school and he ran the bases (truly, his favorite thing to do at this park) over and over again. He'd come around home plate as fast as he could - huffin and puffin - and say, "Mom, that's the last time. I'm not going again." And, as soon as I'd turn around - he'd be off again, running around 1st, 2nd and 3rd as fast as his little legs would carry him. He was framed by middle-school football practice on the field next to us and an adult soccer league on a field a bit aways from us. It made him look just fantastic - this little guy, all by himself - running around the bases like crazy in the middle of these big people. And, I don't want to be one of those prophetic moms, but I think that little fool is going to be quite the baseball player someday...or at least he's probably going to love doing it. Or I'm going to love watching it. Wichever.

Super Hero Dentist Visit

Henry Seward can drive me absolutely crazy sometimes. He can be whiny and argumentative and too silly for me to deal with on occasion. Dave would possibly say he's sometimes like me, I suppose. But yesterday was truly one of those "I can't believe I got lucky enough to have this kid" days. We went to the dentist. He had just seen a Sid the Science Kid episode on how you need to keep your teeth clean or - gasp! - green stuff will grow in your mouth and you'll get cavities. So this was serious business. We walked in and the first thing we heard were kids crying in the waiting room. This didn't put even the smallest dent in our hero's resolve. He looked right at me and said, "I'm ready, mom." The hygenist took us back and he got to sit in the space chair, wear sunglasses so the light wasn't too bright in his eyes and listen to music so he wouldn't be bothered by the sound of the cleaner. Again, kids around us crying like crazy and he just looked forward - very serious - and opened his mouth. Ready to rid himself of anything green or cavity-like. At one point I thought he was getting nervous and tried to hold his hand, but he waved me off - letting me know he was just trying to show me a fish on the wall. I was absolutely bursting with pride. I have no idea why - I guess just because I love to see that kind of resolve. There's a part of me that would almost like it if he wanted to be comforted during the experience - but the better deal is to see him barrel through things, things that can scare you, like you have to do in life.

And when we came home, he took this fabulous picture of Stella. What a guy. And what a stinky little girl.

Vanity Run Amuck

I’ve been really worried about the lines around my eyes lately (well, since my near fatal shopping trip last week for YSL concealer and the dang department store lights that dropped the proverbial hammer on what I thought was my youthful glow). Then, on my way back from dropping the kids off at their respective daycares/schools this morning, I heard an Indigo Girls song I haven’t heard in a while on the radio and there was a line, “with every lesson learned, a line upon your beautiful face…we’ll amuse ourselves one day with these memories we trace.” I think that’s the way to go, right? Vs. trying to save up for plastic surgery?
Big issues this morning. Big issues.

Hippie Chick

Well, miss Stella had her first cold this weekend. It started on Thursday (while Dave was in Walla Walla - HOW he got a client in the Washington wine country is beyond me - I'm going to need one of those clients pretty soon) and she's still a little stuffy. It just bites to have a baby with a cold. I felt so bad for her and spent the entire day on Friday just holding her and talking in what Henry calls "my Teletubby voice."
Here she is on Sunday, feeling a bit better - and wearing my favorite hippie chick outfit.

Hercules, Hercules

Here's the strong lady in our Seward circus. She's about four minutes away from rolling over. And I dig that she already looks like she's chasing her big brother.

Look Out. Here Comes Spiderman.

Halloween. I love this time of year. The weather goes south. Things tend to get cozier...and spookier. This year promises to be brilliant. We've got Henry - who is 100%, full-on into this thing. Last year he was super cute and fun. But this year, he GETS it. We pulled out the big spider for the front door, the skeletons, the old green witch to sit on the porch..."Mom. We're going to scare A LOT of people with this stuff." Yes sir, we will. And off to Target we go to look for some more decorations. We find a $9.99 Spiderman costume (he's wanted to be Spiderman since Nov. 1, 2007 at 6:00 a.m.) that is pretty much just a blue and red, polyester singlet that makes him look a bit like an ice dancer. Are you sure you don't want the nice Spiderman costume I found online? Nope. He wants this one. We had to get it. It will be ripped all to hell before the 31st (he's slept in it every night since he's had it) and he'll get tired of it. But I'm so glad he's smart enough to remind me it's way more fun to be Spiderman for four weeks than it is for one night. Even if Spiderman looks like he's seen 16 miles of hard road by the time the big night rolls around.

And then we have Miss Stella. Still small enough that I call the shots re her costume. I'm so glad the years of being a pea in the pod and a cozy bear aren't behind us. And I'm definitely thinking cute, fuzzy and not a superhero. Lucky us - we get both sides of the coin living with a 3 1/2 year old and a 3 month old. That's true with everything when it comes to Henry and Stella, but it's fantastically illustrated in pretty vivid colors as we get ready for Halloween.

Firsts, Seconds and Thirds

Well, fast forward three months from July 2, 2008 and you’ll find me crying at my computer, wondering how twelve weeks magically disappear like they have.

I took Stella to Julie’s this morning for the first time. Julie was a caregiver at Allegro, Henry’s daycare for three years. She was actually the first person I ever left Henry with there and this morning I left Stella with her too. And, as amazing as this sounds, I completely forgot how hard it is to leave your child. It was hard when I didn’t know Julie. And it’s the same kind of hard even now that I do. Stella will stay with Julie for the month of October and, as Julie isn’t quite sure what she’s going to do with her daycare business, we found a more permanent caregiver situation for Stella starting in November. Rosa and Jose own a little home daycare called Mi Casita. I might already love them - as the first time we went to visit them, Rosa said, “Ah, Janetta – Estella, she looks a’ very smart.” They came recommended by a friend who is the most particular person on earth, so along with the good vibes we get from them both, it seems they were able to pass the Lisa test for three years with her daughter. And I’m glad we found such a loving place for her.

All that to say, it was about 5 minutes ago that Dave and I settled in for the evening and had finished watching the HBO series John Adams, when I felt a cramp that was a bit more intense, a bit longer than those I had been feeling the last few weeks of my pregnancy. Dave went to sleep, and I stayed up and lay on the couch, feeling the cramps get closer together and watching the numbers on the clock on my cell phone go from 10 minutes from the start of one until another one came, to 6 minutes, to 4 minutes. At 2:30 AM we woke Henry up – the last time we’d be a family of three. He was so good. Just groggily asked if he could have a juice box on the way in to the hospital. We drove in and, after much hulabaloo regarding when they would actually do the c-section and some fast driving by cousin Beth to come take care of Henry, Dave and I walked into the operating room at 7:00 AM to meet Stella. Pure and complete joy.

And now that first bunch of alone time with my second baby is over. I know enough now to realize that it will be replaced by other, just as joyful firsts and seconds and thirds. But today is the start of that change – and I once again recognize in myself the complete inability to rationally process change. Which makes me think it's a good thing I get to pick them both up in about three hours.

Err Ready for Halloween?

Well, it's been all prep, prep, prep for Halloween these last weeks, and we're closing in on it as we speak. Last night was a Halloween party at Matt and Michele's, and the boys (Theo, Axel and Henry - or should I say SpiderMan, Captain Jack Sparrow and Shrek) were in their full glory. It's fun to see them grow up - these boys that weren't even here just three short years ago.
Henry and I also spent last Friday morning at the zoo, where the annual "Pumpkin Prowl" was in full effect. There, literally, were close to two thousand jack-o-lanterns spread throughout the zoo. Henry just had a ball. And, frankly, I did too. Nothing like ghost and goblins (and two thousand pumpkins) to get you in the Halloween spirit. It's all a fantastic lead-up to the day...and this year we're pretty sure he gets what's going to happen because he just loves all the hoop-lah. Two is definitely a fun age. This morning, for example, he asked me "Err ready for Halloween Momma?" Which is such a great reminder of how two is this intersection between baby and kid. He still uses "Err" when he means "you" or "your" (ex. - Do err like cereal Momma? or Err brushing err hair?), but he completely understands and appreciates that we're preparing for something special - like a big kid. It's just so much fun.
My favorite "err" quote of the week, by the way: Scene: Henry and I at the snack bar in the zoo. Dialouge: "Momma - Daddy is carving a jack-o-latern tonight and Henry's going to be scared and err going to be scared. Okay? Okay, Momma?" Happy Halloween, everyone. I hope err ready.

Beautiful Blue Dog

On Thursday of last week, Henry and I spent one of our days (we have two days at the end of every "work" week to be together now) shopping at Target, Barnes and Noble and traveling down to Puyallup to see Great Grams (GG). We had a good day - we found shelves for the kitchen, got two new Curious George books and a Old Maid Curious George game - and got to see GG and get a new "money jar." We came home - tired, but feeling great. Until bedtime. Dave was having dinner with a friend and I put Henry to bed. It was then that I remembered that blue dog was in the car - I was too lazy to go get him, so I told Henry he was taking a bath and that we'd see him tomorrow. Fast forward to the next day at naptime when I actually went out to the car to get him - and he wasn't there. I knew he'd been in the car with us on Thursday and I knew we hadn't taken him out. I completely and absolutely panicked. I searched the house anyway (desparate times...) and then put Henry in the car and went and searched all the parking lots we'd been in the day before. An hour later we were home with no blue dog and me in some wierd state of craziness. I literally could not stop crying. I called Dave and I must've sounded just nuts enough, because he came home early to make sure we were okay. A weekend of emotional starts and stops later (and calls to everywhere we'd been) and I found blue dog on Monday. It turns out we'd left him at Barnes and Noble and a worker there took him home for her kids (after she gave him a bath, she said - no suprise to me, as that dog stinks like dirt and spit and two and a half years of little-boy-living). She brought him back and all is well. And now I'm wondering how it is that I got so momenumentally crazy over a small, stinky stuffed animal. I'm not sure I understand it, I just know that he has been Henry's best friend and a part of everything these last years. A central character in his baby years. And I simply love that silly dog. Is this the kind of craziness that comes with being a mother? Holy shit, it sure feel like a bowling ball to the stomach sometimes. :) But - all that said -I've made a Seward executive deicsion, and blue dog is staying home from now on. That little turkey can't try to sneak off and live with another family. I'm (I mean Henry) is just too crazy about him.

Missing Henry

It’s my sixth hour in the Toronto airport. I’ve been waiting for a flight to New York. Storms have made the flight late and now the backup of planes means that it might be another hour or two before we’re able to take off. Frustrating. There is the annoyance that comes with too many hours in uncomfortable seats, the amount of money spent on bad airport pizza and glossy magazines, and the irritation I feel listening to brash New York businessmen vocalize how much THEY are inconvenienced by waiting hours in an airport. But, more frustrating than all these things put together is my guttural reaction to families walking by with kids. I notice little boys with blonde hair and chunky legs and sandals. Kids laughing loudly, running as fast they can from parents who are trying to coral them before their flights. I miss Henry. I shouldn’t be in an airport in Toronto, I should be picking him up from daycare. I sometimes find myself in the classic working mother scenario (too many hours at work, not enough time at home – or the other way around) and feel guilty about it. But never so much as I do when I travel. Especially when Henry is at this fantastic period in his life. Every day brings a new word, a new realization about the world. On our “conference call” this morning, he told me, “Mommy on airplane. COME BACK!” Come back. Indeed, that’s what I need to do. If only I could get on the damn plane.