18 Months

Dear lord, Brenna, you've already turned 18 months old.  You officially have been on the outside twice as long as you were on the inside. 
You have steadfastly hung on to your itty-bitty status, clinging to the bottom of the fifth percentile in both weight and height.  For those keeping tab, you are 20.2 pounds, 32 inches tall.  Your head is an impressive 19 inches in circumference, or the 90th percentile.
I can't help but to sing to you, on an almost daily basis in a country twang, Well it's alright to be a little bitty.  You tend to wiggle your little body along as I serenade you.  You get that good things come in small packages (at least that's what I was always told!).
In the last month or so you have been on the go go go.  You love to play on the driveway and in the yard.  You want to explore, but you like to be holding mom or dad or Addie's hand when you do.  You continue to love chattering, but you make a bit more sense these days.  You have Mama, Dada, Daddy, Addie, peas (please), up, hu hu (help), ball, down, out, go, buhbye, wawa (water) ninight, cheers, hi, and your favorite NO.
You adore the word no.  You like to say it over and over.  You like to shriek, say it with a giggle, whisper, whimper and cry it.  I am about at capacity for the word No.
I have heard you described as being all personality, which is true.  You fill up a room in the best kind of way.  You love making silly faces and blowing kisses.  You giggle with ease.
You continue to love animals, cats, dogs and birds being your most beloved.  Our trips to the zoo are starting to pay off and you love to roar like a lion and chatter like a monkey.
You are walking with a bit more confidence, though at times you are still a bit off balance.  You try running quite a lot, thus the constantly scraped knees.
You love everyone in your family, but you are far and away a Mama's girl - always wanting to be picked up and held, usually when I am fixing dinner.  Yesterday you were sick with a fever and you slept on my lap through out the afternoon.  You aren't usually much of a cuddler, so even though you were not feeling so hot, it was quite a treat for me to get snuggles.  You do give tons of kisses and the absolute best squeezey hugs, you just aren't a cuddler.
Your sister remains your idol, every passing dog is your friend, you love your Grandmas, our neighbors and smelling every flower we pass and you are just the sweetest little pea.

Somehow, a little less than a week ago, kindergarten ended.  ENDED.  Kindergarten.  I swear she was just getting on the bus for the first time an hour ago.

Addie grew so much this school year, but it is hard to pinpoint all the changes.  She grew more confident, more self-assured.  She, amazingly, became even more inquisitive and imaginative.  Some days she was more sensitive.  She may have learned to talk back a bit, be a little sassy, show her bossy side too.  She learned how to navigate girl drama, which oddly occurred frequently on her school bus (what in the world is there to be dramatic about in kindergarten, you ask...so much).  She definitely picked up new phrases  and words and discovered music beyond what we spoon fed her (don't worry, she's not a Belieber).
Her teacher consistently told us what a wonderful part of the class Addie was and each time I worked in the classroom I witnessed what a diligent student she had become.  Addie counted all 22 of her classmates as a friend, even the ones that weren't always so nice.
There were mornings that were excruciatingly painful, often filled with frustration, as we tried to make it out to the bus on time being fed, clean and awake.  Still, most days we succeeded.
Addison still loves being fancy, and shows that a lot when she draws or colors.  She loves using all different colors and adds her own details to coloring pages.  If I saved every picture she drew or colored for us, I could wallpaper our entire house, twice.
Her math and reading skills are great.  She is a fabulous writer too, but tends to go a bit fast or tries to be to fancy, both of which result in sloppy. She is excited to practice all of them, even now during her summer break. 
I find her sitting with Brenna and reading her book after book; Brenna is a great listener.  She is constantly counting things and asks Andy and I to quiz her with math questions.  She loves to write - sentences, little stories, people's names and her favorite phrase I love you.  Her last writing assignment in her Kindergarten portfolio is about soccer and it makes me smile every time I look at it.

It's been less than a week of summer and already when we play school we play first grade...as if kindergarten is a distant memory.  I don't know if I am ready for my baby to be so big.

A Soccer Mom ~ Kinda

Anyone who knows me, even just a little, knows that I am competitive.  I like to win.  A lot.
I have been competitive for as long as I can remember.  I competed with the neighborhood kids, I competed with my brother.  I was not a child who would back down. 
In elementary school I played Tee Ball with boys.  I played soccer with boys.  I took dance lessons, but more often than not was running around with scraped and bruised knees.  I played through a quarter of my middle school soccer game with a dislocated elbow, I finished 5ks in high school despite my knees needing to be in braces.  After college I trained for distance runs, always trying to finish by a step ahead of my girlfriend.  I viewed Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble as battlefields.
Admittedly, my competitiveness has mellowed over that past five years.  I quickly learned that with your children there is no competition.  They will always be perfect.  They will always be right.  They will always win.  I have learned to play board games just for fun and to enjoy the run without needing to win the race.

I really thought I was reformed, and then we enrolled Addie in soccer.  I was determined not to be that mom on the sideline.  As I watch her play, however, my competitive spirit stirs.  I want her to want it, to compete, to lay it out there.  She wants to be polite.  To tap the ball.  To practice show tunes as she runs the field.  Her favorite part of the game is high-fiving the opposing team at the game's end.

I have found myself inwardly groaning, choking back shouts to "get in there Addie!".  Andy and I mutter observations to each other as the game is played.  Observations about her play, the impressiveness of some of her teammates, the utter ridiculousness of opposing teams' parents.
Addie just floats through her games.  She follows the pod of girls chasing the ball.  Rarely does she touch the ball, but when she does her coach responds as though he just won the lottery.

Watching her be proud of each tap, kick, attempted kick has tempered my competitive edge a bit.  Hearing the out of control parents on the sideline bellow at their girls has helped me stay a bit quieter.  Hearing her talk about her teammates and her coach with enthusiasm has reminded me about the importance of playing the game, not winning it.

Even after scoring her first goal this week, she was most excited about the sugar soccer ball cookies after the game.  Her goal almost stopped my heart, her only response?  The tinist of smiles.

Dance

Our Wednesday night dance classes ended last month with the long awaited "big show".  Once again, Addie shined on stage - smiled from ear to ear and danced with pizazz.  The difference in her dancing from this year to last was incredible. 
Last year she often had to look to her teacher and classmates to know what to do next, this year her class mates were looking to her.  Her legs and arms seemed unbelievably long spotlit on stage, yet, somehow, she managed to move them with grace. 

Wednesday night dance class forged some good friendships not only for Addie but for me.  While the girls danced and giggles, the moms compared war stories, learned how to french braid, discussed kindergarten drama and giggled a little bit too.  More often than not we commented about the fact that anyone who volunteers to teach kindergartners to dance should get a free pass into heaven.

Addie's ballet routine was choreographed to Amy Winehouse's Our Day Will Come.  Honestly, it was a sweet routine, and Addie really nailed it, but all I could think about was my baby was dancing to Amy Winehouse.  Her tap number was to I Want to be a Rockette, which, as it turns out, is a horrendously catchy tune that that I find myself humming and singing even now a month later.  And by catchy I mean annoyingly awful.

Addie did get live out my (and Gramma Kathy's and Aunt Ruthie's) dream of being a Rockette on stage.  Without a doubt, out of the four of us she is the only one who has the legs for chorus line kick.  And for pure entertainment - try getting eight kindergartners together and have them coordinate a kick line - hil.ar.ious.

Almost as good as the Rockette kick, was when this little ladies shimmied off stage.  And when I say shimmied, I mean they shimmied. I am pretty sure I heard Andy inwardly groan as their dance number ended.

Then again, that groan could have been for the much anticipated Father Daughter Dance.  Yet again, Andy and Addie spent a half dozen Sundays rehearsing their routine and they nailed it this year.  Andy made sure that they were front and center and to say that my heart got a little gooey watching them would be a massive understatement.  There is nothing more endearing than a daddy and a daughter shaking it on stage.

 

They were front and center for their shared number, but interestingly enough when it was just the Dads on stage somehow Andy disappeared into the back of the stage, which is why don't have an awesome picture of his impressive one-handed side plank.

 

For now Addison's tap shoes and tutu are hung up and we're on to cleats and shin guards - of course instead of kicking the soccer ball down the field, she is often found pirouetting midfield.



Brenna - 15 Months

Oh, Miss Brenna, I have not forgotten about you. 
Really, I haven't.  How could anyone forget about you?  Your beautiful chocolate drop eyes, you ear piercing shriek.

Last month I took you in for your 15 month check up.  I think we can now say, with conviction, that you hate going to the doctor. 
I remember trying to take my dog to the vet when I was growing up.  She would be happy as a clam until we opened the car door in the vet's parking lot - then she would tuck her tail between her legs, whimper and do everything in her power to avoid going through the door the vet's office.  If you were a doggie, I think you would behave in a similar manner.
As soon as we get into the exam room you get antsy and anxious and grouchy.  You don't want to explore.  You don't want to sit on the examining table.  You sure as heck don't want anything to do with our wonderful pediatrician.  You cry at the sight of her stethoscope.  You whimper and wiggle when your ears are examined.  You hate the scale.  You hate being measured.  Having your temperature taken angers you.  You rightfully despise shots.  Our doctor has no idea how seriously sweet and silly you, as she  only gets to see you when you are in quite the kerfuffled state.

Our last check up reconfirmed everything we already knew - you are a peanut.  A munchkin.  A little midge of thing.  Your height this time around was in the 55th percentile at 32 inches tall.  Your head continues in the Johnson tradition of enormous, right around the 97th percentile.  And then there is your weight - or lack there of.  At over 15 months you weighed in at 18 lbs 13 oz, or the 6th percentile.  You older sister was four pounds heavier than you are now when she turned one.  You just such a midge of little lady.

You are trying to talk and tell us what you want but your words are not really in any language that we know, so ultimately you end up shrieking and grunting a lot.  You are excellent with your pointer finger.  You do say Ma and Da, your best and favorite word is Addie.  You say kit for cat, ch for cheers and uh for up.  You are trying to say down and please, but you don't quite have them.  Unlike Addie, you have started using signs to let us know what you want.  You can sign all done, please, thank you, more and milk.  You also wave goodbye when you are ready to leave the house or wherever we are or if you are ready to head to bed.  We are now working on learning the signs for help and hungry.

You love being able to walk and are trying to run, which is quite entertaining to watch.  After our trip to Chicago last weekend, you are now very interested in climbing.  Uh oh. 
You can tell us where your toes, nose and belly button are.  Occasionally you can show us your ears, eyes and head.  But let me be clear, you only do these tricks on your terms when you darn well feel like it.
You have a fair amount of teeth, including four molars and for the last few months you've been a drool factory.Up until a week ago you thought that all animals made a roaring, growly sound (birds, tigers, cats, dogs, fish, squirrels).  Now you have a different sound for cats and dogs and have shared that owls go whoooo.  I was super excited to hear your owl sound.

You adore following around your big sister, wearing hats indoors, chasing the cat and smiling.  Spring is trying to get here and I am ready to release you into the yard for running and fun.  I am sure there will be hours logged on  the swing and slide and have no doubt that you'll climb the playhouse ladder while I momentarily turn my back.

I tell you all the time that you are menace and you are.  I tell you all the time that you are aging me and you are.  I tell you all the time that I love you and I do, very, very much.

But I don't want to clean my room, it's not fun.
Really?  Because I love scrubbing toilets.  It's the most fun I have each week.  I also love picking up toys and dirty socks off the floor.  Oh, and emptying the dishwasher!  And doing laundry and vacuuming - I love it all because it is so much fun.

Three days later:  Mom, tell me!  Is cleaning toilets really fun?


Oh CRAP!
Addison!  What did you say?  Did you say crap?
Um, yes. 
Addie, we don't talk that way.  I don't want to hear again, understand?
Yes mama.

One day later while I'm trying to finish the girls Easter skirts and made yet another mistake:  Ugh! CRAP!
Mom, I thought you said we don't talk that way.

Addie, you need to get those teeth brushed, the bus will be here soon.
I knoooow, Mother.
Addison, I don't need you talking back, just get it done.
Ugh.  I'm dooooing it, Mom. Ugghhh.
{deep breaths, counting to ten, trying not to snark loudly back at a five year old}


Over the last month or so I have been parenting myself. 
A five and half year old version of myself. 
The endless mouthiness.  The need to get in the last word.  The incessant endless need to be right.  And, oh, the drama.  The incredible drama with eye rolling and crocodile tears and huffing.  The foot stomping and hands on the hips and door slamming.  All of it. 
All of it I have done seen before somewhere.

I am in recovery mode.  It's not the norovirus that wiped me out, like it did poor Addison, nope.  Instead it was my family.  My ridiculous, lovely, fantastic cousins are responsible for the fact that I am barely a contributing part of society this week.

After disinfecting my house from top to bottom last week, I packed my bags, kissed the kiddos and husband goodbye and pointed the car east toward Pittsburgh.  The long talked about and awaited Flaherty girls weekend had arrived.  I stopped in Columbus to grab my cousin Liz, paused in Wheeling to kiss my Aunt Ruthie (who, along with all the Aunts I believe, was a bit sad to be be missing out out the fun), and finally arrived in Pittsburgh at the same time as my cousin Amanda.  I arrived with Liz, Amanda arrived with a bag full of wine and cheese. 
My youngest cousin Jill got off work and helped up polish off a bottle or few of wine and off we headed to a bar to wait for the last piece of the puzzle, Joan, who was flying in from New York City.  To say that we partied like it was 1998 is a massive understatement.  The shear amount and variety of beverages ordered was stunning - and slightly repulsive.  To say we laughed wouldn't do it justice.  We shared a few kumbaya moments with car bombs; learned about the rare Fort Meyer's red pelican; and completely forgot our ages.
The next day my cheeks hurt - and so did all of our heads.  A lot.
We powered on with our makeovers - Jill beautified us all with new cuts and colors, while we noshed on cheese, pepperoni, amazing  lemon raspberry cupcakes.  We wandered the Strip district, missed out on having street tacos, sat outside in the sunshine and tasted the most amazing popcorn.
After a fancy dinner out I was ready for bed, but in true Flaherty girl fashion I was cajoled into "just one more drink", turns out mango mojitos are magical.
I had a blast.  I truly did. 
It will take me about a year until I am ready to be that fun again.  And while my body hates just about every decision I made over the weekend, there is one wonderful thing that I think I always knew, but was undoubtedly confirmed:  My family is amazing.  We are all  stuck with each other because we are family - but I would choose them as friends anyway.  They are each uniquely lovely women.   They are poised, hysterical, successful, fun and I know that I am lucky to have them.

So, thanks Flaherty girls!  I look forward to next year...with any luck I will have recovered by then.