Happy Birthday to My Baby!

Dear Riley,

Today you are 2! Happy birthday, buddy! You’ve gotten to be such a big boy in the past few months, I can hardly believe it. You finally grew enough hair to get your first real haircut, and you sat in that barber chair like an old pro. Of course, the lollipop helped.

You talk ALL the time now, and we can even understand most of what you say. You must have excellent hearing, because you ask me about 10 times a day, “What noise, Mama?” It could be a leaf-blower, the blender, the smoke alarm, or someone crumpling a bag of chips a block away.

Which reminds me: you also have an uncanny sense for detecting food or drink. Even if you’re in the other room playing with your trains or trucks, you can hear me opening the fridge and pouring myself a glass of orange juice, or trying to sneak a cookie from the cabinet, and you will come running in demanding a bite or a sip.

This morning you were up at your usual 5:30 am, when you yell from your crib for Mommy or Daddy. Sometimes you switch off if one of us doesn’t respond fast enough. You’re not ready to get up then -– who IS at that hour?! -– you just want company. Or, you prefer the coziness of a queen-size down comforter. If we’re lucky, we can all get another hour of sleep. If we’re not, you pinch and kick us until we wake up and take you downstairs.

Daddy made you blueberry “pampakes” this morning, your favorite. Then you and Miles watched “Mee Mouse.” You know all the words to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song and love to “shake a booty” to the Hot Dog Dance.

Everyone who meets you says you’re Mr. Personality. You can be shy at first, but it doesn’t take you long to warm up and start running around like you own the place, wherever we are. Your babysitter calls you “energetic,” and you certainly are. Although I might use a different word to describe your spirited antics, which include climbing up on the toilet to reach the bathroom sink so you can turn on the faucet full blast and brush your teeth, which really means “flood the bathroom.”

Speaking of the bathroom, you have already gone pee in the potty twice! I refuse to get my hopes up too much, though, lest you follow in your brother’s very, VERY sluggish footsteps when it comes to potty training.

Your brother is your favorite person in the world, besides Mommy and Daddy. The minute you wake up from your nap you ask where Miles is. You love to wrestle with each other, tease the dog, and make each other laugh with silly knock-knock jokes or by blowing bubbles in your milk. Of course, sometimes you scream and hit and are mean to each other, too. Yesterday, you both left teeth marks on each other’s back. Ouch!

But mostly, you are a sweet, lovable, smart, funny little guy. We’ve only known you for 24 mos, but we can’t imagine our family or our lives without you.

Love, Mommy

PIC O’ THE WEEK: The Thomas cake was a family affair. I baked and decorated it, C. was the design consultant and custom-icing-color creator, and Miles presided over everything, offering his 2 cents and asking to lick the spoon.

A Batman Birthday

At some point during my third trip to Party City, this time with both kids and an overflowing pile of Batman paraphernalia in tow, I had this thought: what am I DOING?!

I mean, seriously. I was standing there, buckling under the weight of a basket stuffed with streamers and plastic forks and paper masks and bottles of bubbles, while Riley shrieked in his stroller and Miles whined, “But, Mamaaaa... I want THESE for my party, too! And THOSE ones.”

I’ve said before that I dread am not a huge fan of kids’ birthday parties. I’m all about celebrating milestones and having fun with friends, but my goodness -- the venues, the guest lists, the catering, the presents, the GOODY BAGS!! It’s all too much. I see years of licensed-character-themed cakes and staggering Target gift receipts flashing before my eyes.

So I try to keep it simple. A backyard BBQ, a handful of friends. But before you know it, I’m dashing all over town searching for individually packaged sidewalk chalk and Batman-blue napkins. (It is NOT just plain old navy blue, people.)

Part of what pulls me in is my son’s excitement. Just because I’ve suffered through a kajillion kiddie birthday parties and would opt for a bikini wax rather than attend another at the same damn place AGAIN doesn’t mean Miles feels the same way.

Especially when it’s HIS birthday. He’s basically been talking about it for a year. He was all about Batman until he saw the Spiderman cake at the store. (Yes, I got a store-bought cake this year. I drew the line at black frosting. Also, our oven broke. I took that as a sign.)

Once again, I tried to keep the guest list small, but somehow it grew. Miles made an exception to his all-boy rule for siblings and his cousin. Then C. and I forced the parents to come so we wouldn’t have to suffer alone. Plus, I think family parties are more fun than a bunch of parents standing awkwardly on the sidelines of some kids’ gym, no adult beverages in sight.

Anyway, the party was a success. Yes, the kids screamed and ran around and trashed the house and our lawn will never be the same. But it was fun. Even the piñata -- which I had serious reservations about -- was a crowd-pleaser, and only caused one minor injury (To C.) My 4 m.o. nephew even took a swing at it.

The best parts for me: After I hung up all the tacky Batman crap Miles said, wide-eyed, “Thanks for decorating for my party, Mama!” And seeing him race to the door every 10 min.: “Is that a guest?” (His word.) And seeing him with his friends. At 4, they are real little people, with unique personalities and manners (sometimes) and inside jokes, even. Crazy.

Well, Miles, I can hardly believe it, but you’re 4. FOUR! Happy birthday, buddy! Here’s a look back at birthdays past:

Your original birth day. That was a loooong day.

Your 1st birthday Q&A.

Your 2nd birthday, “The Year of the Truck.” (check out that dump truck cake, people!)

Your 3rd birthday was all about Spiderman and your new baby brother.

What will next year bring, I wonder?

A Birthday Conversation

“Miles, you know what tomorrow is? Daddy’s birthday!”

“Are we going?”

“No, it’s his birth-DAY, not birthday party. The day he was born.”

“When’s his party?”

“He’s not having a party, sweetie. But we’ll make a cake and celebrate at dinner, just us.”

“Can C. and O. and L. and B. come?”

“Those are YOUR friends, buddy. And like I said, he’s not having a party, it’s just us.”

“Why isn’t he having a party?”

“Well, grown-ups don’t always have parties for their birthdays, unless it’s a big one.”

“Is it a big one?”

“No, not really. Do you know how old Daddy is?”

“Ummm... 4?”

“No, not 4! That’s how old YOU’RE going to be on your next birthday. Daddy’s 37. That’s a lot older than 4.”

“300 and 7?!”

“No, THIRTY-seven.”

“When are you going to be old, Mama?”

“Hmmm, well... do you mean old-ER? ‘Cause I’m already pretty old.”

“When can we give Daddy his presents?”

“Tomorrow. I got him a framed picture of us and an orange bathing suit. But don’t tell him, because we want it to be a surprise.”

“OK. Mom, I’ll tell him we got him a picture of a tree and a GREEN bathing suit!”

“That’s pretty clever, bud, but how about we don’t tell him anything.”

“Mom! Mom! Let’s tell Daddy we got him a window and a fence for his birthday!” (If you recall the current state of our house, he might actually be thrilled with those gifts.)

Birthdays just aren’t the same when you’re a grown-up, are they?

PIC O' THE WEEK: Last year's celebration. Guess whose idea the cake was?

Birthday Blues

One of my former writing students wrote a scathing and hilarious essay about kids’ birthday parties. It began something like, “Do you enjoy standing around on Saturdays in your socks making small talk with strangers?” As someone who’s been to more than a few toddler parties, I could completely relate. I don’t HATE kids’ birthday parties, but they’re not my favorite way to spend a Saturday, either. Here’s why.

It starts with the guest list. In theory, I am all for the “one guest per year of your child’s age” policy. Certainly, I am not interested in hosting a 50-person throw-down every time one of my son’s birthdays rolls around. But here’s the thing. Once you start including parents and siblings (the norm for most of the little kids’ parties we’ve been to), you end up with a crowd.

Also, at my son’s school they have a policy that kids should invite all or none of their classmates to their birthday parties. I get it; they don’t want anyone to feel left out. But the WHOLE CLASS?? Good lord, people! Do you know how many goody bags that is?

Which brings me to the next thing: goody bags. When did these become the norm? Of course the kids love them. But now my son EXPECTS to leave every party with his own loot. And not just a lollipop and a couple of stickers. His gift bags have included coloring books, temporary tattoos, stamps, pens, balls, games, and of course, CANDY. Lots of it.

I actually considered shirking the trend for my 1 y.o.’s birthday party. After all, it was just a couple of family members and friends. Small, casual. I know for a fact most parents don’t want another bag of plastic crap from the Target $1 section. It’s cheap, it falls apart, it’s almost surely made in China and saturated with lead paint. But...

Some of those things are so darn CUTE. Have you seen the Easter stuff? And imagine the disappointment on those poor kids’ faces when they left the party empty-handed, with nothing but pizza stains and a killer sugar buzz to remember it by. I couldn’t do it. I compromised by giving them board books. Yep, I’m THAT mom. Next thing you know I’ll be handing out raisins on Halloween.

The next anxiety-causing issue is the gift. I am not a great gift-giver even when it comes to people I know and love. Ask my husband. To this day, my kids’ favorite gifts are things other people bought them. So the thought of buying something for some random kid I know nothing about besides their gender fills me with dread.

How am I supposed to know what they like? What they’ve read? What they already have? If they live in a TV-free or Barbie-free household? (They exist, I know for a fact.) God forbid I give some kid a Tinkerbell puzzle and incur the wrath of a feminist, anti-Disney parent.

I know, you’re thinking, “Just get a gift receipt.” Uh-uh. Because I have a place where I can get new, hardcover books for a steal. And another place where I buy things like hand-painted wooden toys from Germany for up to 70% off. No one needs to know my secret! (Except you guys, that is.) If they want to regift it, that’s their business.

So, yeah. I’m a little stressed about birthday parties. I thank my lucky STARS that my older son’s birthday falls after the school year. Until then, you can look for me on weekends at the gymnastics place, the inflatable jump house place, the bowling alley, or the art studio. I’ll be the one standing around in socks, making small talk with strangers.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: If you plan ahead, personalized stuff like this from Olive Kids is a foolproof gift. Super-cute, too.

*Thanks to my friend T for the photo!

To My Son On His 1st Birthday

Dear Riley:

Happy Birthday! I can hardly believe you’re a whole year old. People say it goes by so fast, but I sure didn’t think so with your brother. Now that there’s 2 of you, though, life really has seemed to speed up. Why, it seems like just yesterday your dad and I were dressing you in a miles-too-big newborn outfit to take you home from the hospital. And now look at you -- you’re busting out of your 12 mos.-size footy PJs!

I have to be honest: we weren’t sure about you in the beginning. Oh, we loved you from Day 1 and thought you were the cutest thing we’d seen in 3 years. (Cuter, actually, since your brother was more banged up after his rough entry into the world.) But BOY, could you scream. And you did. Often.

In fact, high-pitched outrage was your default setting. We thought you had gas, so we put you on meds for that. Then we thought you had reflux, so we tried to treat that. But the truth, as our pediatrician aptly pointed out, was that you were just a sensitive baby. You get that from me, sorry. Including your sensitive stomach.

Seriously? I’d never seen so much spit-up in my LIFE. In public, people stopped in their tracks to ask, “Is that normal?!” I lost count of how many bibs you went through in a day. And our carpets will never, ever be the same.

You were so attached to your mama that I worried I might have to carry you in a sling till kindergarten. The first few times I left you with a sitter you wailed and sobbed and in one case, even refused to take a bottle -- unheard of for you.

But then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, you began to change. You started to smile, then laugh. You began to crawl, then walk, then run. Just like the doctor said, you stopped spitting up (as much) and that blocked tear duct that made everybody think you had pink-eye cleared up. You got some teeth -– a whole MOUTHFUL –- and you started eating real food. In fact, just yesterday you turned up your nose at a jar of baby food, but wolfed down the bits of spinach and tomato quiche and sweet potato fries I shared with you.

But Riley, the real turning point came when you were about 10 mos. old. That’s the magical month when you began to SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT. And it’s a good thing, because I was seriously beginning to lose my will to live. And I may even have considered “forgetting” to pick you up at the babysitters’ a time or two. Kidding! Though I really can’t overemphasize how much your sleeping 8-10 hrs. straight endeared you to us. It also seemed to make you a happier baby, so we all win.

These days, you are a cheerful, energetic, busy guy. You love to eat paper, crayons, and socks. You adore emptying drawers and climbing up stairs. You LOVE dogs -- a little more than they love you. You know how to use a remote control, and pretend to use a phone. You enjoy music, and have an enviable sense of rhythm already. I’m a little worried about your utter lack of interest in books, but maybe that will come.

For now, you can’t be bothered to sit still for longer than it takes to chug a bottle. You’ve got things to do, toilet paper to unroll, kitchen implements to scatter about! The one time you’ll concede to snuggling is at night, just before you go to bed. That’s one of my favorite times of day.

Riley (aka Ry-Ry, the Ry Guy & Ry Dog), we love you so much and can barely remember what our family was like before you came along to complete it. Wishing you a very happy 1st birthday, filled with love, laughter, and cupcakes. Maybe I’ll even let you chew on a crayon or 2.

Love, Mama

Birthday Do-Over

It was my birthday this weekend, but it passed without much fanfare. Just some nice cards, takeout, and a cupcake with a candle. That’s OK with me, though. I’m not one of those people who makes a big deal about my birthday. After 30, what’s the point?

Truth be told, however, this particular birthday has got me a little down. I turned the big 3-5, otherwise known as “advanced maternal age.” Ouch. That hurts. Not that I’m trying to have another baby or anything. Nosirree, Bob. Got my hands full with 2, thanks.

It’s just that, when I was much MUCH younger, I pictured myself differently at this age. Remember “Who’s the Boss?” Well, I thought I’d be Angela Bauer, but it turns out I’m Tony Micelli.

Of course, I discovered that I don’t WANT to be a high-powered career woman. All it took was a short stint in corporate America to convince me of that. But I didn’t exactly dream of being a housewife, either. When I pictured myself grown up and married with kids, I didn’t envision piles of laundry and having to come up with something for dinner every night.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy with how my life has turned out. Who’d have thought I’d end up with such a great husband and adorable, healthy kids? And I get to have the best of both worlds by being a work-at-home freelance writer and mom. I have a good relationship with my parents, and I even get along with my in-laws. It’s sickening, I tell you!

But still. 35. Damn. I can’t say I’m in my early 30s anymore. I’m out of touch with kids today. I don’t get the hype over Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. I have to worry about a mortgage and retirement planning and the economy. And soon, mammograms and calcium and thinning hair.

Maybe that’s why I woke up feeling sick this morning. Nothing like a whopping dose of adulthood to turn your stomach!

We had planned to go out to breakfast to celebrate my birthday and Father’s Day, but we settled for cereal instead. We exchanged cards, then I headed upstairs to work on a rapidly approaching writing deadline while C. took the kids outside to play. Then it was naps for everyone.

Miles woke up cranky and I was still feeling off, so we scrapped our dinner plans and ordered takeout. My husband and son had sweetly bought cupcakes, so they sang “Happy Birthday” and I blew out my candles. I won’t tell you what I wished for, but it wasn’t a pony or a trip to Disneyworld. It was a practical, boring, grown-up wish.

But now that the kids are in bed and the day is winding down, I’m kind of wishing for a birthday do-over. Little kids get so excited about birthdays—the presents, the party hats, the cake, the balloons. Maybe next weekend I’ll wake up, put on a sparkly tiara, and we’ll go out for a bike ride or a picnic. For one day I won’t think about careers or mortgages or deadlines. I won’t be Angela Bauer OR Tony Micelli.

Come to think of it, the person who seemed to be having the best time of all on that show was also the oldest -- Mona! Maybe 35’s not so bad after all.

Cupcake Queen

In the past month, I have made more cupcakes than I have in my entire life. I guess that happens when you have kids, huh? Turns out cupcakes are trendy right now. Debates are raging all over the internet on such pressing issues as, are cupcakes the new Krispy Kreme?

There are “cupcakeries” springing up all over the country. My friend ordered some of the renowned Sprinkles cupcakes and yes, they were divine. Of course, with an inch of buttercream frosting on top, I could’ve been eating a loofah and it would’ve tasted divine.

When I was growing up, my mom was big into making themed birthday cakes. She had this great cake-decorating book from the 1970s (which I tried briefly to find on Amazon but gave up because I don’t have time for that, only to write 500-word odes to the cupcake). It shows you how to cut shapes out of round and sheet cakes to make, say, a bunny with a bow tie. Flaked coconut and licorice feature prominently in the decorations.

One year, my mom made me a Smurf cake. Though it may be an assault to the adult palate, blue coconut goes over well with kids. She also made me an Eiffel tower cake when I was studying French in college, long past the required age for personalized, homemade birthday cakes. That’s my mom. And yet, on her own birthday, she’d make do with a frozen Pepperidge Farm cake. The sacrifices moms make...

Anyway, since my son goes to a (thankfully) un-P.C. preschool where cupcakes have not been banned, we’re allowed – encouraged, even – to bring them in for birthdays. There are 10 kids in his class, so that means he basically ingested twice his body weight in cupcakes this year.

No one at his school would bat an eye (again, thankfully) if someone brought in store-bought cupcakes. But I thought, why not whip up two dozen Duncan Hines ones? It’s not that hard! Right. Not hard, maybe, but time-consuming, definitely. So there I was, the night before, swirling light-green frosting onto the top of each cupcake, trying to dispense an equal amount of sprinkles on each one with hands that were trembling from sugar-shock.















I got clever with the baseball cupcakes for my husband’s birthday. (No, this was not his idea. Two guesses whose it was.)



















Then I got not-so-clever with Miles’ fairly hideous Spiderman and Cars cupcakes for his family birthday party. (Those are store-bought candies on top.)














But the kid kept changing his mind! I wasn’t about to spend all night researching superheros on the internet and customizing frosting colors for each character, only to have him wake up and say, “I don’t want Spiderman cupcakes anymore. I want Dark Vader cupcakes!” As if he even knows who “Dark” Vader is.

Someday, in all my free time, I aspire to create something like these amazing confections based on children’s books. How cute is the Very Hungry Caterpillar one?!

SHOUT OUT: A big thank-you to Nap Warden for giving my blog a face lift! I’m still working on filling in the new pages, as you can tell. Check her out at The Chronicles of a SAHM and NW Designs.

Happy Birthday, Miles!

Dear Miles:

Happy birthday! Today you are 3, or “free,” as you say. It seems like we’ve been celebrating your birthday for a month. First you had a party at school so you could celebrate with your classmates before the school year ended. Then Aunt C. came to visit and you opened her presents early. Spiderman swim gear, with a towel cape!

While last year was all about trucks -- which you still have a fondness for -- this birthday has been a Spiderman extravaganza. You got a Spidey bathing suit, Spidey underwear, Spidey T-shirt, Spidey on a motorcycle, Spidey with a sticky web, a giant Spidey wall decal ...

The thing is, you are not singly loyal to Spiderman. In fact, when I asked you what kind of birthday cake you wanted, you said Spiderman one day and Batman the next. Sometimes you even said you wanted a car cake or a robot cake. In the end I made cupcakes -- half Batman, half Lightning McQueen and Mater. Not the cutest confections ever, but you were happy.

In fact, you’re pretty much always happy. You’ve been that way since birth. You didn’t get that from me. That probably comes from your dad. Don’t get me wrong, you have your grumpy moments. But generally, you’re a good-natured guy. And also, active. You like to play with your friends, go to the park, have picnics, and build forts with the couch cushions. Your constant companion is a stuffed dog named Vanilla, who used to be white but is now more of a grayish hue.

And it must be said that you’re quite a talker. Sometimes your mouth doesn’t stop moving all day. You astound your dad and me with your abundant vocabulary. One day you used the word “constellation” in a sentence and Dad just about fell over. Last week we saw a Coca-Cola truck, which led to a discussion about soda, which led you to say, “I want to be a grownup sometime and have cavities.” Obviously, my soda explanation was lacking, but still. You’re a bright and funny guy.

You have adjusted amazingly well to being a big brother. You were the first one to make your baby brother laugh. I believe it was when you were doing the “Wubbzy wiggle” on the couch. You like to give him hugs (or is that a headlock?) and climb in his crib with him. You laugh every time he sneezes, and alert me to his spitting up. (Not that I need a heads-up from you when a stream of spew is unleashed on my shoulder.)

You are very generous with your affections, and are constantly telling your dad, your brother, and me that you love us. Sometimes you even tell me, “You’re the best mommy I ever had.” Usually you’re angling for a treat, but not always.

I only have to look at your long, skinny legs and little-boy shoulders to see that you’re not a baby any more. There’s no more chub to grab, and I can barely pick you up anymore. I don’t feel sad about it, though, because you’ve turned into a great pal. You’re even more fun now than you were as a baby. You make me smile every day, and you give the best hugs.

I love you, buddy. You’re the best 3-year-old I ever had.

Love, Mom

Month 25: The Year of the Truck

Trucks and trains and tricycles, oh my! Guess it’s no secret what 2-year-old boys like, huh? 95% of Miles’ birthday gifts featured wheels of some sort. First, an entire new fleet of trucks arrived, including a dump truck as big as a dishwasher. Then, a whole new set of Thomas trains steamed into our living room.

If you’re lucky enough not to be intimately familiar with Thomas & Friends, you might not know that all these vehicles have names, as well as faces. Thank goodness they’re printed on the bottom, because otherwise I’d have no clue when Miles asks, “Where’s Percy?” Um, is he the green one?

Even the books he got were in keeping with the theme: there’s “Little Blue Truck” and “Smash! Crash!” about two mischievous trucks who like to -- yep, you guessed it. We’ve read that one 6 times already. Coincidentally or not, the birthday cake I made was a yellow dump truck hauling a load of malted milk balls. It was a big hit with the 2-year-old set. It came out pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. Especially considering the 94-degree weather this weekend. Heat and humidity do bad things to buttercream, people.

I used to think that parents who were strict about sugar and sleep routines were uptight. Back off and let the kids have some fun, thought my naïve, childless former self. At least on their birthdays! Now I know better. It only takes one junk food-fueled meltdown by an overtired toddler to teach you that you don’t mess with bedtimes and blood sugar. Maybe if I’d waited to mention the cake until AFTER dinner…?

As joyous as it was to watch Miles delight in his birthday loot, I swear he morphed into a Terrible Two overnight. Not that he’s always been a picnic, mind you. He’s just trotted out some extra-obnoxious behavior the past couple days. For instance, my old standby maneuver for when he won’t come when I call him backfired big time. We’re walking the dog, Miles takes off, I call after him, he ignores me. So I say, “OK, then. I’m going home. See ya later!” But instead of chasing after me, this time he says, “OK, bye!” and takes off in the opposite direction. So there I am, running after HIM with a dog and a bag of poop in 94-degree weather. Good times.

Then there was the hissy fit over the T-shirt. Even his birthday clothing featured cars and trucks, except for the requisite pile of New England sports paraphernalia from my in-laws. However, Miles was reluctant to stage a fashion show so we could take pictures of him in the “Big Papi” shirt. He only had eyes for the dune buggy shirt. So he screamed and cried and threw himself on the floor and could only be consoled by another reading of “Smash! Crash!”

His bad moods pass quickly, at least, and before long we were again playing happily with the convoy of construction vehicles that has invaded our home. At one point he paused in his vroom-vrooming, looked up, and said hopefully, “Cake time?” And, being the sucker mom that I am, I said, “Sure, sweetie. Let’s have some more birthday cake.” At least it was a break from the trucks.

PRESS O’ THE WEEK: Check out my SATC post in The Baltimore Sun.