Zero One Two

It's Ike's birthday tomorrow. But bear with me for just a second.

I'd never even heard of Alabama Shakes before they were on SNL back in February. Jason and I were sitting on the couch (on Sunday morning, naturally, watching a recording because we never stay up that late anymore) when they first took the stage and started to play "Hold On." We both sort of...froze after a minute, as we were hit with that thunderstruck feeling you get when you hear music that you just really, really love. 

And I loved everything about them. The rich, Janis-like voice coming from the lead singer; the crazy, completely unselfconscious way she contorted her mouth to create bluesy, primal sounds; the way the whole band let the song casually, effortlessly unfurl with a slow burn to a frenzied climax without thrashing around on stage or pyrotechnics or or props or naked body paint dipped in glitter. Just good, old-fashioned rocking the hell out. It probably took me all of 30 seconds to go from "Who?" to "Holy shit, I need this music in my life every single day from now on."

When the song was over, Jason and I looked at each other.

"WHOA," we said, in unison.

***

There was so much going through my head on the day Ike was born, most of it of the second-guessing variety. Another baby. Another boy baby. Another c-section birth, another breastfeeding crapshoot. Easy baby vs. difficult. Typical vs. special needs. Another whole damn child, what were we thinking?

I remember pushing all those thoughts aside on the operating table and focusing on the acoustic ceiling tiles. It was my third time in the same operating room. I'd been prepped for the birth on the very same bed where I'd been prepped for Ezra's birth, and the very same bed where I'd had to unfortunately labor for several hours prior to Noah's birth, while waiting for a birthing suite to open up. One did, eventually, but I ultimately ended up back in this very same operating room. 

Another baby. Another boy baby. Another another, more of the same, just more and probably harder. Because ANOTHER. 

And then I heard him cry. 

And I was thunderstruck. Emotions exploded out of my chest and up through my face, and all of them were happy and good. I loved everything about him already. He was perfect, already. I couldn't remember life without him, already.

For the third time, Jason brought me a squished, closed-eyed little newborn, wrapped in the same hospital blanket, wearing the same pink and blue hospital hat. For the third time, I kissed his swollen cheeks over and over and pushed back the edge of the hat to see his hair. For the third time, Jason and I looked at each other. 

"WHOA," we said, in unison. 

***

Dear Ike,

You are two years old now. You are still everything. You are still perfect. You make me laugh and smile every single day, and you surprise me just as often. There is nothing "another" about you, because you are you. You are the one we didn't even realize we were all waiting for, and I am so happy and grateful to have you in my life, every single day, from now on.

Love,

Mama

Music: "Hold On" by Alabama Shakes

Doppy Urpdey

Below is an absolutely thrilling video, in which Ike sings "Happy Birthday." Only without any of the actual words...or the right melody...and also there's no cake.

But there is a candle and an excess of toddler confidence and ham-face, so...

 

 

Happy Friday! And no, I'm not paying royalties on that, suckers. It's a new original arrangement.

Four Going On Awesome

Today is Ezra's fourth birthday. Happy birthday, my funny little wonderful Zahbaby, and thanks for still letting me call you that.

He woke up insisting that no, he is NOT four. He is six and a half. He has been waiting his whole life to be six and a half, like Noah was. Apparently he thought once Noah turned seven, he could move into the six and a half spot, like claiming an older sibling's room once they head off to college. 

He's still a little grumpy about the whole topic. 

Which means it's time for me to queue up his favorite song in the whole word and dance with him around the kitchen to it, and then swing him around in circles until we're both dizzy. Then he'll wrap his body around my legs like a baby monkey and hug me as hard as he can, and I'll fall over, and the song will end and he'll leap on top of me and say, "AGAIN, MOMMY! I LOVE YOUR SHIRT AND THE GREEN NINJA AND NOAH AND I HAVE ON MY FAST SHOES. AGAIN!"

Works every time. 

Ezra's Fourth Birthday from amalah on Vimeo.
Ezra's Favorite Song in the Whole Word: "So Long" by Zooey Deschanel & M. Ward (from Winnie the Pooh) 

One

One year ago today, I took this picture.

And then a few hours after that, I took this one.

And probably a few hundred others, just like it. 

It's difficult to write about the day you were born without lapsing into lazy clichés. One of the best days of my life, one I'll never forget, like no other experience in the world, a day full of joy and love and endless promise and tinged with mystery. Who are you, little boy? What will you be like? How are you different? How are you the same? 

Everything stood still on the day you were born. We stayed locked together, even after you were so abruptly pulled from your cozy womby home, because I could not get enough of holding you, smelling you, kissing you. When others handed you back to me we'd both emit the same satisfied sigh as you settled back into my arms. Yes. That's better. That's right. 

At some point the fast-forward button gets hit, and the days and weeks and months hurtle by. Milestone after milestone, pound after chubby delicious satisfying pound. You're smiling, cooing, rolling, babbling, laughing, scooting, sitting, eating, crawling, standing, cruising. Doing everything a baby is supposed to do, when a baby is supposed to do it, yet it all still feels new and novel and unique because it's you.

Who are you, little boy? 

You are our bright-eyed...

Ball of quiet mischief...

Who has everybody you know completely wrapped around your fingers and toes and swirly baby curls.

You're Baby Ike, that's who, and you're amazing.

Happy birthday, Ikey. 

Baby Ike's First Birthday from amalah on Vimeo.

Music: Perpetuum Mobile by Penguin Cafe Orchestra

Baby Ike Walking, A Play In Four Acts

Hey! So what's it really like having three boy children in your house, all the time, all on top of each other's business, and yours? 

What's it like trying to celebrate each individual child's accomplishments while simultaneously warding off jealousy, rivalry, fighting and GUYS PLEASE STOP THAT BEFORE SOMEONE STEPS ON THE BABY?

This. This is what it's like.*

Baby Ike Walking, A Play In Four Acts from amalah on Vimeo.

 

*Which is to say: poorly lit, with inferior cinematography, and a soundtrack that could effectively double as birth control.**

**Also, awesome. Though it helps to always have everybody in their pajamas so you can randomly decide to send them to bed at any given moment. I DON'T CARE THAT THE SUN IS STILL OUT, YOU'RE BEING TOO SCREAM-Y AND I'M TIRED. 

 

Go, Ninja

Noah's IEP meeting went very well, by the way. (The plot points! They are dangling!) Of COURSE it went very well. I always get myself so needlessly lathered up about these meetings ahead of time -- a peril of being overly-informed about other people's horror stories, probably -- and then we show up and remember that oh. Right. These people actually give a shit. About their jobs and their students and that whole "making a difference in the life of a child" thing. 

I'd gotten a somewhat...strange phone call from the school psychologist the week before that knocked me a bit off my axis, and then a conversation with a classmate's mother at a birthday party set me even more on edge. Because this same psychologist was causing problems for them and everything about their IEP was contested and a struggle and the whole thing sounded crazy combative and stressful. Just like another mother had described their experience this year to me a few weeks before, at another party. Sternly-worded letters! Hired advocates! Parents storming out of meetings! Peace negotiations all blown to hell!

I think I need to stop attending so many birthday parties. Or find something else to talk with people about. Hey, did anybody else see The Hunger Games? 

I really do love Noah's school. And his teachers. They are doing an amazing job, and sometimes it blows my mind to stop and realize how far Noah has come. Our IEP meeting was calm, collaborative and about as low pressure as it gets. I think first grade is going to be just fine, for all of us. 

***

One of Noah's playmates learned to ride his bike without training wheels a few months ago. He's a year younger than Noah, and his new skill triggered a bit of competitive peer pressure throughout the neighborhood, and we watched training wheels disappear left and right, it seemed. But Noah, of course, did not care. Did not want. Did not even want to hear the mere suggestion of taking his training wheels off. 

So we did what we always end up doing. We bribed him. Take the training wheels off and learn to ride your bike from corner to corner by yourself, and we'll take you to the toy store and buy some Legos. 

"Ninjago Legos? Like in a big box? The kind that cost too many dollars?" 

Whatever Lego set you want, dude. 

"Okay."

I figured he'd live with this lofty goal in a strictly figurative, hypothetical sense for awhile. That we'd float the idea out there and he'd think about it some more, no pressure, until he really felt good and ready to make an attempt.

Instead, he demanded that the training wheels come off his bike that very instant. LET'S DO THIS THING.

While Jason took care of the wheels I tried to have a talk with Noah about how he would need to practice, that it might take awhile for him to figure it out, and that he would need to stick with it even if he thought it was too hard.

His perfectionistic streak can be vicious, unfortunately -- it even came up during his IEP meeting. "Noah needs to take more risks," his teachers said. "If he's not 100% confident that he'll be good at something, he refuses to try, or he starts and quits immediately."

Getting Noah on a bike in the first place was an epic struggle, and it's never really been one of his favorite activities. Even with the training wheels, he's prone to crashes and falls, or frustration over not going as fast as the other kids who fly down the hill with no fear. 

"I'm a tiny little bit scared," Noah said. "But that's okay, right?"

Definitely. And me too.

I watched for awhile. He was wobbly and positively insistent that Jason not let him go, at all, no no no no. After each run Jason needed to coax him into trying again, and again. About what I expected, honestly.

Don't Let Go from amalah on Vimeo.

I went inside and started loading the dishwasher. Maybe he'll get it by the weekend, I thought. It's spring break so we'll have plenty of time to practice, and as long as we can avoid a bad fall or something like...

Jason came in about 10 minutes later. "Well, he did it! Where are my keys?"

"SHUT UP," I said. I ran back outside. 

"I DID IT, MOM!" he hollered. 

He grudgingly agreed to a single demonstration -- dammit, woman, that toy store isn't going to stay open ALL NIGHT, you know -- but did let me get in some hugs and a couple "I'm so proud of you's" before he climbed in the car, chattering happily away about Sensei Wu and Lord Garmadon mini-figures or maybe he should pick some more Star Wars Legos? No, ninjas. Definitely ninjas. Ninjas are the coolest ever. 

Countdown

Wednesday is coming.

Wednesday is coming and with it comes sadness and heaviness and a sense that I will need to say something -- to write something -- and that I should know what that something is by now. But to figure that something out, I would need to be thinking about it, about the sadness and the heaviness, instead of pretending that Wednesday is not coming.

Pretending it doesn't mean as much as it does, this weirdly arbitrary-when-you-think-about-it block of 365 days plus one, for leap day, which makes it feel even stranger, like I should be dreading Tuesday but the Gregorian calendar is dictating that no, thou shalt be sad on Wednesday. 

Pretending that I will not be spending it visiting his grave and comforting my mother and basically powering through the day (C'MON THURSDAY!) as quickly as possible so it doesn't crush me like a gnat and I'm not making any sense here, today, on the Friday before, which doesn't give me much hope for coming up with the right words on Wednesday. 

Ya know? 

Probably not. That's okay. Me neither. 

Here's a video of Ike begging for ice cream while Noah asks for permission to watch Angry Birds videos on "YouToo," (which we rarely let him do anymore after realizing what YouTube considers to be a "related video" to Angry Bird cut scenes), and Ezra was there too but he's busy eating ice cream and anyway, it was a nice dinner together outside in the warm weather and Ike's little mouth makes me smile. A lot. 

Baby Ike Likes Ice Cream from amalah on Vimeo.

That feels right for today, I think.

You Should Have Seen The Other Guy

We bought our Christmas tree this weekend, which was terribly! exciting! because 1) it was the first year Noah did NOT wig completely out over the idea that we needed to transport the tree on the roof of our car, so we got to all go as a family instead of Jason picking a tree out and sneaking it in while I kept Noah distracted and/or placated with lies about how yes, Daddy TOTALLY let the tree ride inside the car, properly buckled safely in the passenger seat, and 2) Ezra got into a drunken fist fight over a blue spruce and the basket of free miniature candy canes. 

The fist fight was with a slippery, tree-sap-covered patch of pavement.

The pavement totally got his, if you know what I'm saying. He'll think twice next time before messing with a three-year-old and his candy canes, for sure. 

I asked Ezra to tell me his side of the story, just so I could add another movie clip to the now epic-lengthed documentary I'm working on entitled "ZERO FEAR, LESS SENSE: THE COMPLEAT EZRA STORCH INJURY COMPENDIUM EXPERIENCE." (Look for a screening at a wedding reception in the distant future near you!) What resulted was three utterly charming minutes of Life With This Kid as he discussed his injury, holiday decorating and demonstrated feats of strength. 

I'm sorry, but I simply must inflict this on you, Internet. Happy Festivus!

 

NOAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!

I COULD sit here and tell you what my weekend was like, with words and stuff, OR you could just go ahead and watch the following video over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over (breathes) and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over a few hundred dozen times or so and basically get the gist of things.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME CHRISTMAS

'Cause we're ready for some Christmas.

Noah helped decorate the tree -- one of about a bajillion different firsts for him this year. We finally figured out that he's okay with having a tree in the house, he just doesn't want to see or even hear about it riding home on top of our car. Because...trees don't belong on cars? Because it might fall off? Because it's a flagrant violation of proper seat-belt usage laws? I DON'T KNOW WHY. I DON'T MAKE HIS RULES. All I know is that this year we skipped the whole picking-out-a-tree-as-a-family bit and didn't tell Noah anything about it until the tree was off the car roof and in our living room. This, he was fine with. 

More than fine, actually. Excited, even, to get going with hanging up the orbbamints.

So our tree has a LOT of orbbamints on that one side, towards the bottom. I am more than fine with this too.

Ezra supervised the garland placement.

I waited until he was in bed to begin the untangling and cursing of said garland, and only barely managed to finish sometime before breakfast. The magic of Christmas!

I used to pretend our  holiday garland was a Golden Lasso, too. Though if Ezra ever asks Santa for a Wonder Woman costume, he'll damn well GET a Wonder Woman costume. 

No, I'm still not over it, Santa.

As for this year, though, early signs are looking very promising for the current plan of giving Ezra nothing but a bunch of Random Plastic Packaging Shit on Saturday. OMG IKEA ORBBAMINT BOX IS GREATEST THING EVER.

Except for maybe snowman cookies.

Well. They were at least kind of excited about it, I swear.

I think the enthusiasm was dampened by my overselling of the accompanying hot chocolate as being something so delicious it was going to blow their little minds out their ears, but they both took sips of the tepid, barely-lukewarm liquid and shrieked and wailed from the HORRIBLE SCALDING HEAT WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO US, MOTHER, WE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED.

 

Moving on. 

Another Big First: Noah licked the bowl after we made cookies. 

Translation: Noah actively participated in the cookie-making process, complete with the BREAKING OF EGGS and the NOISE OF THE KITCHENAID, and then willingly TOUCHED THE STICKY, SLIMY BATTER with his OWN FINGERS and then ACTUALLY TASTED IT.

And declared it DELICIOUS. 

So delicious, in fact, that I was forced (FORCED, I TELL YOU) to make a whole separate batch of cookies just so Ezra could get his first taste of cookie dough.

 

Now all that's left to do before Christmas is make one last batch of cookies after the kids go to bed so I can get some cookie dough. This spirit of "giving" and "sharing" garbage is for suckers.