The Pup

I often stop to think that if it wasn't for our B and his obsession with all those Buddy movies starring adorable golden retriever puppies playing sports or manning space ships, we probably wouldn't have our pup.

And I can tell you, in my completely unbiased opinion, he's probably the best dog ever. Really. He is! He is so unbearably sweet. He is like a giant stuffed animal come to life whose only purpose is to seek affection. I love this dog. I adore him. We all do.

I am not the only one. Apart from his adoring fans at home, Chewy has quite a following. He has gifts left for him in our mailbox. Our neighbors buy him toys regularly. They even asked us if they could buy a dog brush so they could come over and brush him. Anyone who walks by our house brings him a treat. And we have even had people take pictures of him and leave us copies of them. (He is quite photogenic, our Chewy.)

Yes, he sheds like crazy. He brings a whole lot of mud into our house. He also has a weird habit that he carries shoes around the house in his mouth. He doesn't chew on the shoes or eat them, he just likes to carry them around and put them on his bed. This means we are constantly searching for our shoes or tripping over mismatched pairs of shoes strewn about the house by the dog. He is also probably not the brightest dog and has been known to run into glass doors by accident. He could never be a watch dog, because he simply would love the intruders to death, rather than chase anyone off.

Unlike other dogs, our pup lives not for food, not for the treat, but for the belly rub or a snuggle. Every night, Chewy waits until the boys are all in bed. He knows that when I finally sit down each night, he gets me all to himself. My almost 100 pound lap dog jumps up into my lap for a snuggle. He will fall asleep with his head in my lap.

When we took a walk recently with the boys, the boys took turns carrying Chewy's leash. They raced ahead of me often, eager to see what was ahead of each corner. But if they got too far away from me, Chewy would stop and simply refuse to go any further until I have caught up and we were all in a group again.

Best dog ever. In my completely unbiased opinion, of course.

Beautiful Day

We have had a lovely fall, warm and sunny with just a bit of a cool dip in the evening to remind you that we will start breaking out the sweaters soon. After some tennis this morning, I grabbed the boys and the pup and we set off for a morning hike.

It was an hour or so of walking in the woods, giggling over minnows, checking out fallen logs, and searching for wildlife. A beautiful fall day.

Mondays with G

Now that school has begun, Griffin and I are back to our Mommy Days, our Mondays together, all by ourselves. It feels good to have some time to soak up my last little one. This is our last year together. Next year, he will be off to kindergarten. But for now, he is all mine.

Griffin was eager to get back to our days. He spent the last few weeks of summer counting down to his mommy day. I told him that for our first day together, he was completely in charge of our day. He quickly had it all planned out. We would play. We would read books. We would snuggle. We would watch Dino Dan together on the couch. And we would go to Panera for lunch.

The boy loves Panera.

Our first Monday, I decided to switch it up a bit and asked Griffin if he would like to start the day with a hike. We loaded up the dog and set off on some trails a few minutes from our house. We crossed bridges, walked among trees, saw streams and the big highlight, had an encounter with a snake.

(I didn't handle the snake part too well. Poor snake was just on the trail getting some sun and I had to go all bat-crazy on him, yelling, throwing sticks to get him to move. Not my finest hiker mom moment.)

After our hike, we dropped the dog off at home and went to Panera for lunch. I left Griffin pick out our seats. He picked a booth all the way to the back of the restaurant, away from the hustle and bustle. He ran up to the booth, but before he sat down, he asked me which side of the booth I was going to sit in. I pointed to a random side. He nodded his head, grinned and said, "Then I will sit there too because I want to sit right next to you."

He nestled into my side, snuggling against my arm in between bites of his ham sandwich. We hugged. We snuggled. We giggled and gabbed. It was the sweetest moment with my baby boy.

It feels good to have our Mondays back. I think it is going to break my heart a bit when our Mondays are gone for good.

Sad, sad news

We got a note home from Brennan's teacher last week asking us to send her a quick note to let her know if one of us would like to serve as a homeroom parent. After reviewing both mine and Chris's commitments to the school this year, I decided we would have to decline the offer of home room parent responsibilities, not only for Brennan's class, but Aidans as well.

(Yes. I declined. I said No. I opted NOT to take on an additional volunteer position. This is a pretty significant development in my growth as a parent to a school age child. Just a few years ago, I would have ended up as a homeroom mother to both boys' classes. It's a victory of sorts.)

Aidan and Brennan were both a bit disappointed that I wasn't going to sign up, but when I explained to them that I had already agreed to help out in a whole lot of other ways, they seemed pacified.

Fast forward to Monday. I am putting Brennan to bed. He leans over me, catches my face with both his hands and looks at me seriously with the biggest and saddest brown eyes I have ever seen.

"Momma?" He says with a serious frown face. "I have sad, really sad, sad news to tell you."

"What? You do?" I ask, a bit bewildered at Brennan's serious side. He is normally joy in a bottle, bouncing in place from the sheer effort it takes to remain still for more than a second.

"Yes. This is very sad news Momma." He takes a deep breath and peers into my eyes. "You were not picked to be my homeroom parent."

"What?" I ask, a little confused.

"I know Momma. It is very, very sad. But you weren't picked. Other mom's got it. I am so sorry Momma." His hand moves from the side of my face to grab my hand and give it a squeeze.

"But, Brennan. I didn't say I wanted to be a homeroom mom..."

He cuts me off. "It's okay Momma. I am sad too."

"No, B. I never told your teacher that I was going to be a homeroom parent for your grade."

"You didn't tell her, but I did. I told her to pick you." Brennan proclaims sadly with a shake of his head, "But you weren't even picked." He gives a big sigh. "It's so sad. My teacher picked 'em out of a hat and our name wasn't picked."

"This is really, really sad. Are you sad Momma?" Brennan asks, sorrowful.

Yes, I'm sad. I'm sad that my six year old is trying to rope me into more volunteerism without my knowledge. I finally have my own impulses under control, now I need to worry about my children. Let's just hope they don't sign us up for any parking lot duties anytime soon.

How You Like Them Apples?

Today was the big day for Chris. The day he has been training for, day in and day out, for the last year or so. It was half Ironman day. 70.3 miles.

While he was swimming, biking and running his fool head off, the boys and I decided to celebrate this beautiful sunny and 70 degree day, by picking too many bushels of apples. I love the self-picking fruit expeditions, but have a hard time with controlling the amount of fruit we actually bring home. I can't seem to stop myself or the boys from picking anything and everything we can grab. We must fill our bags to the brim! We must get the biggest and best apples! Go team apple picking! And that is how you go home with 46 pounds of apples. (But at like 30 cents a pound, please. We should have picked another bushel.)

I see a week of apple pie, apple crisp, apple sauce and apple butter. What Ironman doesn't deserve a little apple pie a la mode to celebrate 70.3 miles?

First Love

I picked Griffin up from school this week and was greeted with a serious announcement from our G.

"Mommy, today I met a girl. And I really, really like her!"

Griffin shared this with me in a serious tone laced with excitement. He had found someone special and he wasn't afraid to let everyone know about it.

My baby has his first crush.

I tried to stay calm, but also I need some more info. I need to scope out this little pre-K crush a bit. Is she good enough for my G? My sweet, green eyed boy?

"Wow, Griffin. That's great you met a new friend. What does your new friend look like?"

He considered for a moment and then said, "She sort of has hair like yours Mommy. It's long and goes on forever. And I know that if I touched it, it would be so very soft."

Oh, sweet boy. My baby has it bad.

Octoberfest... in September

The big fundraiser for the boys' school is the first weekend after school starts - Octoberfest. Except it is in September. And that is how we roll.

The day started with a 5K Race and/or 1 Mile Fun Run with a post-race celebration - hot dogs, snow cones and popcorn oh my. (The school lost money on my kids with the snow cones. I lost track of how many snow cones each of them had consumed and was almost scared to ask. Sometimes, a little ignorance is a good thing for everyone.)

The boys did the 1 Mile Fun Run with my dear friend Christine and her girls Ellie and Casey. Chris did the 5K Run. I stayed behind to take pretty pictures and be a school volunteer at the registration table. (and eat a snow cone.)

The boys loved the run. Aidan and Brennan both want to do the 5K next year. Chris ran to his glory (well, all the glory you can find in an elementary school parking lot anyway) and won his age group for the race. (I ate another snow cone in celebration of his big win. I'm quite a giver that way.)

The Octoberfest fun continued later that evening with an adult beer fest back at the parking lot. Much beer, some questionable german food, and a lovely german band! And a good time was had by all.

Too Cool for School

I am ashamed to admit this, but, well, I am that silly mom. That mom who likes to put cute little notes in my kids' lunch boxes and shape their sandwiches into trucks, planes or Star Wars spaceships. I don't do it everyday, but every so often I like to have a little fun with my boys' lunches.

For the first day of school, I lovingly crafted each boys' sandwich into the shape of an X Wing Fighter, thanks to those cool sandwich cutters from Pottery Barn (and my sweet friend Danielle who had an extra set and passed them off to me.) I thought it was cool and the boys would love it.

The next day, I was pulling the sandwich stuff out of the fridge and saw Aidan watching me intently.

"Mom?" He asked hesitantly. "Could you just make me a plain sandwich? No star wars stuff? Just a sandwich?"

I was floored.

"What?" I asked, surprised. "No X-Wing fighter Ham surprise? No Millennium Falcon roast beef with cheese?"

Aidan shook his head. "No. Just a plain sandwich. Nothing else."

"Oh." I tried to hide my disappointment and a tinge of sadness that my baby is too cool for all that kids' stuff.

Aidan walked away and Brennan came up to me to hug me. Brennan tugged my shirt and whispered, "I'd like an X Wing fighter sandwich Momma."

Whew. I still have a boy to baby a bit. My fourth grader is all grown up, and too cool for school. I have a feeling this is only the beginning.

First Days!

We began our first week of school with Griffin on Tuesday. Griffin starts another year of Pre-K with his fellow Orange Bears. He has told me more than once this summer that he missed school, missed his teachers and his friends, so we was thrilled to be headed back. He woke up, got dressed and promptly put his backpack on his back, even though we had a good hour until it was time to actually get to school. When he returned home that afternoon, he pronounced the day a success, even though he "already knew everything." That's our G.

Today was the first day back for Aidan and Brennan, my fourth and first graders. Neither boy was all that thrilled at the prospect of school. There were quite a few tears and too many "I don't want to go" at bedtime the night before.

This morning, however, Brennan was so excited to get his day started that he could barely sit still. He was all joy, all giggles, all suppressed excitement threatening to burst. All he could talk about was how he got a desk this year. A desk! He couldn't wait to see his desk! I don't think he was still for a second this morning. He wiggled while he ate his breakfast. He danced while he got dressed. He giggled while he brushed his teeth.

Aidan was a little more serious. He had a stomach ache. He was nervous. He wanted just one more day at home. He thought he had a sore throat. A runny nose maybe? He should definitely stay home, at least for today. He didn't let up. My first born has a tough time with change. The first few days of anything are a challenge to him as he works it out. I know he will be fine. I know he will get there. But to watch him struggle with nerves and uncertainty breaks my heart.

(As I explained all this to Chris later this morning, he let loose with a barely repressed chuckle and murmured, "I wonder where he gets that from..." Not funny.)

Seeing Aidan's nerves and Brennan's energy, validated our choices for both of them for their school. Their school is a small, tight knit community. It offers consistency and certainty for Aidan, with the same class of kids every year since kindergarten, allowing him to build confidence and get over his nerves. And for Brennan, it has a nice, small class size to ensure his teacher has time to manage his high energy level. (Fifteen children in Brennan's class. Only four boys. Two out of four boys are named Brennan. What are the odds?)

Another school year has begun. Onward and upward.

My Aidan is Nine

Aidan, today you are nine.

Nine. I am not sure how this is possible, but my little bugaboo of a baby is now a nine year old boy

At nine, your obsession with Harry Potter endures. You have shyly reminded me many times that there is a chance you could get called to Hogwarts when you turn eleven. I am holding fast to that little boy in you that still believes in magic, witchcraft and wizards. Even though I know you will be horribly disappointed to discover we truly are just a family of Muggles.

You have read the entire Harry Potter series at least four or five times, all the way through, and still sleep with the set of books next to your bed. I think you know all the spells by heart. You haven’t let me cut your hair before school starts, because when it is long, and just a little bit wild, you think you look just a little bit like Harry Potter himself.

Apart from Harry Potter, you also continue to love Legos. You love to build and can spend hours constructing or deconstructing. You are a bit of a pack rat and refuse to put away a Lego set, once built, which has made your bedroom into a bit of a messy, disorganized and somewhat chaotic Lego museum. You also saved every single Lego magazine and catalogue you have ever received, until I finally got you to throw some of them away in the hopes of freeing up some space on your overstuffed bookshelves.

Your favorite food is still pizza. And anything that resembles a baked good, particularly chocolate chip cookies warm from the oven. You asked for a chocolate chip cake for your birthday and an ice cream pie for the night before. You are still my junk food junkie.

You are a leader. You remain my devout rule-follower and rule-enforcer. You like to take care of everyone and everything, as long as you get to be in charge. And if sometimes that means you get a little bossy, well, you think it’s okay because you know best anyway.

You have a good, kind heart. Every teacher, every coach, every person, who has ever spoken about you to me has commented on your kindness and on your loving spirit. You like to encourage others, particularly your peers. I have never been prouder than watching you cheer for your team mates, your friends or your brothers.

You discovered tennis this summer and fell in love. You still love golf, moving up to playing independently of your Dad with the other big kids. You continue to amaze me in the pool, watching you swim faster than I probably ever could. You enjoy basketball and hope to try out for your school’s team this winter. You love to snowboard and are unbearably proud that you have graduated to going up the chair lifts and down the ski hills on your own. You love to ride your bike, particularly when it involves mountain bike racing with your Dad. You finished your second triathalon this summer with a smile of pride bursting on your face.

You are a dedicated, hard worker. I will never forget how determined you were to learn how to serve in tennis. You practiced for almost two hours, hitting and serving, again and again and yet again, until you got it just right.

You adore your brothers. The three of you are inseparable. You build forts together from sheets and blankets dragged off your beds, covering up the entire upstairs hallway. You stage elaborate and complicated Lego battles. You battle with your DSs, play Harry Potter outside, running in the backyard yelling spells, and engage in some fairly intense nerf warfare.

You are a love. You are an affectionate, sweet boy who still snuggles with me and will crawl into my lap for a cuddle. Every year, every moment, I am thankful for that growing boy who will still let his mom hold him close. I never want to let you go.

Happy Nine to my love, my first born, my bugaboo grown into a sweet boy.

New Year

While January 1st technically ushers in our new year, I have always seen September as the true start of a fresh slate. I have been out of school for (too) many years, but the arrival of school buses, fall breezes and the turning of leaves seems to be the start of something. January just seems like (yet another) month of winter.

September means change. New classrooms in new grades, moving up and on, and growing, oh, just growing until no one really seems like they were every truly my baby. September always marks for me a comparison onto how far my children have come, how much they have learned and how much they have grown.

I am a parent to a fourth grader and first grader now. It hardly seems likely, but I am. A fourth grader who has grown so tall that the top of his head hits my chin. A first grader that has shed every last ounce of his adorably baby-chub and turned into a tall, skinny bean pole.

Who are these grown up boys anyway? How can they be mine?

September also gives me an opportunity to revisit my goals for my "new" year. I have goals. Concrete, well defined, goals. And I have a plan to get myself to those goals during my school year. September has inspired me. Because if there is anything that September shows me, it is that time is fleeting and moves more quickly than I thought possible.

I know that very soon, almost too soon, that fourth grader and first grader will be looking down at me, from their tall, lanky frames, stooping down to hug their old mom. And I have much to do before then. Much, much to do.