I’m a proud momma and former college cheerleader. My children get to benefit from both. If my boys do something that makes me proud I’m gonna shower them with compliments, hugs and kisses, and maybe break out some spirit sprinkles.
Some of Dylan’s boost of steam consist of: “You read that whole book perfectly.” “Great job counting all that money.” “Wow you are a super fast runner.” “You are just so adorable, you know that?”
And at 6 months old, Blake gets the: “Look at that great big smile.” “What a good roll over buddy.” “You’re sitting- yay.” “Great job scooting."
I want the boys to know when they did a good job. I want them to know when I’m proud. I hope it encourages the repeat of positive behaviors. I hope it instills confidence.
confidence: belief of one’s power or abilities; self-confidence; self-reliance. Yep, that sounds like an awfully nice characteristic to have.
But there’s a very fine line between confidence and conceited.
conceited: having an excessively favorable opinion of one’s abilities, appearance. Eh, this one not so much.
My five year old, Dylan is guilty of hovering back and forth on this very fine line. After one of D’s friends counted to 50 the other day, Dylan found the need to one up and say “I can count to 1000 by 2s.” A buddy can read a sign at a restaurant, “yeah, I can read a whole book.”. Last week at tennis after Dylan won a couple of games he told his tennis buddies “I’m a Master at this.”
My husband, Denny was at the tennis lesson with me. I could tell by the grimace on the hubs face he shared my slight displeasure of this display of boastfulness.
Denny pulled Dylan aside and had the it’s not polite to brag and it is polite to be a good winner speech. Dylan looked kind of confused. It is kind of confusing. Be confident, but don’t be cocky. Be proud of your skills. Don't be a show off.
Denny ended the talk with “buddy you don’t have to go on about how good you are at something. Sometimes it’s fun to be a secret master.” As Dylan walked slowly back on the tennis court, I couldn't help but think this really is a confusing thing to learn.
Dylan won the game again. Tennis racket in hand, smile on his face he turned to us, gave a thumbs up and whispered “secret master.”
We will do our part to encourage our boys. To capitalize what their good at. To be confident. To sell their skills in approrpirate situations. To demonstrate through action, and not just words.
To Dylan, our secret master, don’t every be afraid to let all of your talents shine, just don’t be a jerk about it.
I innocently went to the mailbox to gather what I was sure to be some junk mail, bills, if I was lucky a good catalogue, if I was really lucky a fun invite or a letter from a long lost friend. Mixed in the expected, was an envelope addressed to the Parents or Guardian of Dylan W My eyes glanced to the addresser and sure enough its from the school where he will be a Kindergarten student. Putting the rest of the mail back in the mailbox (all that could wait) I opened the official looking letter. Staring at me was Kindergarten Registration date and other relevant info. No it’s just not time. I started to imagine what that first day of school will be like for my baby. The image of my sweet, easily anxious, precious, skinny-minny, Mr. Bear lover taking the first super big step onto the scary yellow school bus. No, it’s just not time for that.
I shouldn’t be surprised that it really is that time to start thinking about school schedules, supplies and after school care. There has definitely been signs. Definitely been gentle reminders that my baby advanced flew by the toddler and preschool stage and is sitting firmly in the school aged stage.
Signs like when I was searching to update his wardrobe, and couldn’t find his size anywhere. Oh wait, you mean there’s a whole different department for his size? He no longer is a 4T so I have to shop in an entirely different area? No, it’s not time for that. But it is.
Signs like when we were crossing a busy street and I reached down for Dylan’s hand like I have done a zillion times before, and he say’s No Mom, I got this. I grab is hand anyways, because no, it’s not time for that. But it is.
Signs like Dylan only wanting to sit on my lap when he’s not feeling well or stupid tired. I so remember holding him for hours in my arms, kissing the top of his head a billion and one times, stealing all the cuddles a new mom could ever want. And now…I have to beg for a hug? No, it’s not time for that. But it is.
I guess “that” is the fact my five year old is getting bigger. Is getting older. Physically and emotionally. No longer do we shop in the Toddler department. No longer can you find Dylan on my lap. Better chance you will find him karate chopping my lap. No longer does he need me to do everything for him. Be everywhere with him. It just doesn’t seem like it’s time for all that. But it is. It is time for Dylan to find some of his independence, and show it off. To figure out what he loves and what he doesn’t. To be the big boy five year old that he is.
So yes, at the end of next month we will be standing in our driveway waiting for that big, scary, yellow school miss to come and take away my baby away so he may begin his new adventure as a school ager. We will be doing this because it’s time.
Here’s to Cherishing Every Single Moment because before you know it…it’s time.
I said goodbye to blogging and thought it was for good, and here I am typing away. During those initial blogging days, I posted about how we were one and done in the kid department, and here I just stole a glance at my two happy and healthy boys. Yep, two.
That’s right never say never
Taking it back. We were a happy family of three. Mom. Dad. Son. A combination, at the time, that just seemed right. That just seemed to work for us. I felt in control and at ease with my role of mommy to my one and only.
To Have Another, or Not..That’s the Question
Not that we didn’t try to change our family composition in the past. To have another, or not was a question we asked and answered multiple times. The answer, however..always varied. Yes, we want to give Dylan the blessing of a sibling. No, we want to give Dylan 100% of our love and attention. No, the responsibility of another human life, another mouth to feed, a college education to save for. Yes, the fresh baby smell, the tiny little toes on their tiny little feet, the inquiring eyes looking for reassurance and the smile you receive when they find it.
During the yes times, we would try to make Baby #2 happen. Not that we tried for years, or really even extended consecutive months. It was more like a spark would happen- we would see an adorable baby (damn those Geber commercials), Dylan would ask if he was going to be a big brother one day, we would buy a game that requires four players (ha), and we were on the yes side..until we weren’t. We would get behind on life, work would get busier, Dylan would zap our entire energy level and in those moments we felt overwhelmed with just the one offspring. We would stop trying just as quickly as we decided to try.
I Was Wrong
During the back and forth of trying and avoiding there was a time I thought I was pregnant. Two weeks of thinking. I took a test. I saw a line. I was ecstatic, beyond ecstatic. Thoughts of taking care of a newborn, seeing Dylan loving on a little brother or sister, making Denny so happy with the big news (he was more yes to a family addition than no) flooded my brain. I kept the news to myself so I could craft an amazingly special way to announce the news. Two weeks later, I took another test from the same box and the same line showed up. I smiled. Took out the instructions to snap a picture of the newly peed on stick announcing my pregnancy and that’s when I glanced at the instructions. Wait, what?!? Lining up the pregnancy test with the instruction, I realized that the single line that I thought translated to pregnant, was really screaming not pregnant. Disappointed. Discouraged. I was embarrassed that I just spent the last fourteen days rubbing my stomach imagining what this pretend baby was going to be.
After that we stepped up our yes game and tried. It was only four months in a row which I know is not a long time, but it was so easy to get pregnant with our first, Dylan. A little too easy ;) Being the classic drama queen I am, after four months of unsuccessful attempts I was annoyed. Forget it. Not going to happen. It’s not meant to be. I’m over it. Whatever. (honestly my heart aches for women who suffer from “real” infertility issues because I just suffered from impatience issues and clearly did not handle it well.)
One & Done
Then I did what I always do to cope… I convince myself why the current situation is for the best. With just one child I can 100% focus on his wants and needs. I won’t feel divided. If he wants to do 5 sports at the same time, bring it. One college saving plan, got it. Undivided attention given, doing it. Up all night and poppy diapers, avoiding it.
I am such a great convincer I actually started believing that having one child, really was better. When people would ask about having another, I proudly said nope. We are one and done and loving it.
My world turned upside down May 2012, when I missed my period. Bought the most expensive pregnancy test I could find. Read, reread, and reread the instructions again. This time there was no mistaken it.. it was decided for us once and for all. My family of three was about to become extinct. Ready or not, we are Walerius... Party of Four. Holy Crap!
The newest addition of our family joined us on January 3. He is the happiest little 6 month old, maybe that ever existed. I cannot even imagine for one second my life without Blake Martin. I should have been yes all along, because I really do love being a mom to two. Hectic. Crazy. Overwhelming at Times. Yes, yes, and yes. But the love that I have for both of my boys, the melting of my heart when Dylan asks to hold Blake, my little baby's gigantic smile..just makes everything right in the world and with my family of four.