Good-bye, Santa

We did it. We told the boys that Santa Claus is not real. Before you flip your lid and start thinking about what a monster I am, just take a second to consider the fact that we live with our kids and we know them better than anybody else and we feel that we did what was best for our children.

Ian has NEVER found the concept of Santa to be entertaining. You can SEE distress on his face every time he talks about it. He started questioning Santa and commenting on how none of it makes sense when he was four. We neither confirmed nor denied his suspicions. This year he flat out asked me, "Is Santa real or not?" One of Ian's greatest qualities is his unwavering honesty, and Cole and I praise him for his honesty all the time. Honesty can be a hard pill to swallow, and Ian will. not. lie. It's so very admirable. Given the fact that the thought of Santa never brought joy, only stress, to Ian's life and that honesty is one of the very most important character qualities we want to develop in our boys, we had to let Santa go and tell the truth.

We told the boys about Saint Nicholas and how Santa was inspired by Saint Nicholas and the discussion just evolved from there. Eli started acting silly and tried to ignore the conversation. That's Eli's natural reaction to anything that makes him uncomfortable, and I know his little heart was breaking. Ian was quiet for the longest time and then asked, "Why did you tell me this?!" I was flabbergasted and quickly retorted, "You asked me!" He said, "No, I didn't!" And then this whole argument ensued. He DID ask me! I did not make that up. I'm pretty sure that Ian was upset because while he knew in his head that Santa didn't make sense and wasn't real, his sweet little six-year-old heart wanted it to be true.

We decided to tell both boys at once because we didn't want Ian to have to keep a secret like this, and we also wanted to let Eli down easy...if that makes sense. It was a sad day for me because I remember believing in Santa and the magic of Christmas. It was so much fun. But that was not the case for Ian, and unfortunately Eli was caught in the middle. I think we'll still wait until Christmas morning to lay out the gifts, so there will still be excitement, and we made it very clear that this MUST remain a secret from other children we know that still believe and we came up with a vague response to give when people ask questions like, "Is Santa going to come to your house?" I think we covered everything, but who knows.

When it was all said and done Eli whispered in my ear, "Since there's no Santa, I want to tell you that I want the biggest train set from Brio, okay?"

Lego Land...under the table

Ian was playing Legos the other night and wanted a picture of himself with his hard work. He kept saying, "Once I get this ALLLL set up, I want you to take my picture with it." I'm still not entirely sure what this scene was, but he was so darn proud of it. He looks so old in this picture. :(

Mass Update

My, my, my...it's been a LONG time since I updated the blog!!! So, in true Danielle fashion, this update will be a catch-all of what's been happening since August. The other day Cole and I were talking about how the blog has been terribly neglected and how that stinks because this IS our family journal. I commented that the blogging (not to mention a perfectly tidy house with drawers FULL of clean laundry) fell off the radar when I started working (part-time) again. Cole said, "Well, you could quit your job. It's up to you." Cole knows I won't quit, but I think a little bitty part of him sort of misses the life we had when I was at home an additional 20 hours a week. It was definitely more organized around here. {Sarah, if you are reading this don't worry. I'm NOT quitting!!!} I'm just going to have to make an appointment with Blogger once a week to do updates regularly. For now...here's what's going on in the life of the Andersons.

This guy turned 6! Yep. That happened. And within the last week he has gotten his first wiggly tooth...and then a second...and what might be a third! I asked him what we would do when he lost all these teeth and he said, "I think I'll have to eat baby food."

We ate supper at Olive Garden for Ian's birthday. He can't get enough of those buttery breadsticks.

This dude continues to live life in costume. Why wear clothes when you can wear a costume, right? And his character development and improv skills are unreal. He comes up with COMPLEX character back stories on the spot and NEVER breaks character. When he gets into a new character at home he always asks, "Mrs. Anderson, where's your bathroom?" He is so. much. fun.

Big Bro got glasses! He has done so well with them. He clearly needed them because they are ALWAYS on his face. You never need to remind him. Over Thanksgiving the kids were playing in the basement and my sister announced that kids with glasses MUST take them off before playing rough. Ian said, "Uh, Aunt Jess, I can't take mine off or I can't see right." I think he opted out of playing rough.

Railroad Days 2014. We showed up at 9:00 a.m. and stayed until 5:30 p.m. We even weathered a pretty heavy downpour. These boys and their trains.

The cold weather is here. Vests, fleece, gloves, hats, boots, parkas, scarves...they all make me realize how much I hate winter in the Midwest. It's miserable...and it's not even cold yet!!!

Matching be damned...this one wears what he "feels" in his heart. And yes, that is sometimes two different boots to school. Whatever. His feet were warm and dry.

We carved gourds this year instead of pumpkins. Ian's held up REALLY well...not sure where his specs are in this picture. Hmmmm.... Eli's, however, dehydrated pretty quickly and looked totally bizarre. Eli got pretty upset about "Pumpky's" demise and started acting really oddly. After days of being super weird about the pumpkin he yelled out, "I don't like Pumpky anymore! He looks like some weird gorilla!!!" This was true. The eyes were bulging out and it was pretty freaky looking. I, too, was relieved when consent was given to lay Pumpky to rest in the compost.

There has been a great deal of scrap lumber ramp construction going on. These boys are quite the ramp builders and can stay occupied for HOURS building and rebuilding their tracks.

Sweetest boys a mom could ask for!

We had a front row seat for some serious road repaving that I didn't think was EVER going to end. It finally did, but good lord...I hope it doesn't happen again for a very long time. I was having fantasies of driving the Nissan at full speed right through the road barrier blocking our intersection. I'm glad that never ended up happening.

No story here. I just think Ian is ADORABLE in this picture, and it brings the total number of pictures of me with at least one of the boys up to about 12 which is fine by me considering how much I loathe having my picture taken. (Ian, when I'm old and gray, please reference this picture to remember that your mom was once young.)

Let's talk about this guy for a minute! Ran his first marathon on November 1st in Indianapolis. It was FREEZING...quite literally. Temperature at the start time was 27. That's one of his running partners, Jenn. We couldn't find his other partner, Ben, that morning for a group picture, but Ben's wife has some mad photoshop skills so maybe we can get a group picture someday.

His official chip time was 3:44:01. He was awesome! I'm super proud of him, Jenn, and Ben. They were all amazing.

Birthday Festivities

Ian is 6! It's been an eventful week. Birthday early in the week and party on the weekend. Goodness gracious. Here's a visual recap of events.

 He got a set of Metro Mags as his gift.

(Those suckers are EXPENSIVE! I bought a set for 60% off on Zulily. Mom for the win!)

He immediately spelled out "Ian is 6." Not all the words are facing the same direction. It's artistic.

We had supper at Olive Garden, his standard birthday dinner choice.

Then it was off to Toys R Us where he picked out a new recycling truck, got his birthday balloon and crown.

Then came Water Party 2.0. The yard was already wet from a lot of rain and it was in the LOW 70's. Not what I was hoping for, but you know what? We all put on big smiles and dealt with it. The kids lasted about an hour, and by the end...the yard looked like the end of Woodstock. This was bad because my mom, my grandma, and one of my neighbors were all wearing white pants. Yikes!

Cole prepared about 400 water balloons before the party, then he, my dad, my brother-in-law, and my father-in-law spent the first solid hour of the party constantly replenishing the stock. They were such good sports, and I SOOOOOO appreciate their hard (wet) work!!! The kids had a blast! We then had to hose off 17 muddy kids, dry them, change them into dry clothes, and prepare for lunch.

We fed 17 kids and 16 adults Pizza Hut pizza, and I forced all the kids to choose at least one fruit or vegetable to go with their pizza. Yep. I was that mom. We were cutting it close on time so Cole's mom and Aunt Kathy coordinated and supervised gift opening. It was all over and cleaned up before I knew it. Except for the yard...it still looked like a war zone. What a great party!

Overheard

Sunday night I went to bed at the same time as the boys. I had to be at the gym by 5:00 a.m., and I was just tired. As I was trying to fall asleep I heard this little conversation.

Eli: Ian, are you asleep?
Ian: No.
Eli: Mom and Dad are watching T.V.
Ian: How do you know?
Eli: I can hear it! It's not fair.
Ian: Yeah, it's not fair. When I get big I'm going to stay up late and eat candy and watch T.V.
Eli: Yeah, I'm going to.....

He must have rolled over because I couldn't hear his big plans.

It was so sweet to overhear their "sibling" moment. It's hard to think of them as their own little people with their own special relationship. It's very cute and very sweet and I wish I could hear more of these little exchanges.

Six Years of Parenting

On Ian’s birthday this year, I took some time to reflect on the past six years. He’s gone from a floppy little baby who couldn’t even hold up his own head to a child who can read bedtime stories to me. He’s essentially the same little baby boy that made his entrance at 5:47 p.m. on a Tuesday evening in August of 2008. He has grown up, but he hasn’t really changed. I mean, you can’t really change until you start getting a sense of “who you are,” and that doesn’t happen at six. Most of the changing that’s going on around here has been me. Because you can’t have two boys in 16 months and stay the same. It’s just not possible. Being the second of four girls, with no brothers in the mix, could never prepare a mother for the chaotic journey of raising boys. If you aren’t ready to take the good with the bad, adapt, relax, and accept the constant state of madness your life has become…you are going to miss out an incredible experience. Here's how being a mother of boys has changed me, for better or worse.

I can not be shocked. There was a time I would look at my boys and think, "What sane human being would make that decision?!" The mind of a girl and the mind of a boy are just WAY too different. But, over the last six years I've seen enough to no longer feel shocked by anything. Seriously. NOTHING shocks me anymore. I might be caught off guard, but I will never be shocked. I've had a kid fall off the arm of a rocking chair he was standing on, catch himself on a shelf, and rip the shelf out of the wall, anchors and all. I've had a kid drop a library book out of a car window while driving 50 mph in four lanes of traffic...and then had to go play Frogger to retrieve the book from the center lane in which it landed. That was an experience. I've had a kid trip on a bathmat, fall face first onto the side of the toilet, and need 14 stitches: 3 internal and 11 external. I've spent what felt like an eternity dislodging a Fridge Phonics magnet from the room of a screaming kid's mouth. I've had every single surface of a bedroom doused in baby oil while the kids were "napping." The 40-year-old garage door opener barely works anymore because the boys were "riding" the garage door up and down. Frequently. I haven't seen it all, but I've seen enough to know that with little boys running around, anything is possible. ANYTHING, I tell you.

A little chocolate ice-cream after the stitches removal.

I constantly live on edge. I tried to freehand paint some lines on a flower pot a few months ago. They looked as though I painted them while riding in a stage coach fleeing an Old West train robbery. I haven’t had a steady hand in years. I live on edge, people! I constantly have children jumping out of closets, hiding behind shower curtains, and leaping onto my body as I walk by with absolutely no warning. Have you ever played an impromptu game of “Baby Spider Monkey” that you had no idea you were going to be involved in? It’s terrifying. One minute you're putting away towels and the next minute you have 45 pounds of kid clinging to your back after he "dropped from a tree." I’m also constantly navigating a veritable minefield of Legos. Ever ran one of those bad boys through your instep? Good God, almighty! And while we’re on the subject, let’s talk about clear Legos. The ones you don’t even know exist until you hear them rattling in your vacuum. Where is the sadistic Master Builder who decided those were a good idea? I’d like to put him in a dimly lit room with a bunch of those little bitty, clear right triangle pieces scattered about the floor and then have someone dangling by their knee from a top bunk start screaming for help. I’ve stepped on two in a row before. That’s all this 31-year-old body can handle. If I ever stepped on three in rapid succession…well, I’d probably just give up on life for that day and resign myself to laying on the floor, waiting for someone to discover my body. Yes, it hurts that badly. Try it if you don't believe me.

My definition of “danger” has relaxed to a previously unfathomably high threshold. Like all little boys, my boys are full of bad ideas. That sounds a little harsh. Perhaps a better way of putting it is poorly thought out ideas. Little boys don’t comprehend danger like adults. Recently, I caught mine plotting to use down vests to "hang glide" off the top of a 4 ½ feet tall clubhouse. I had to shut this down. But, generally speaking, I don’t interfere much. At one point in time, the alarm went off in my head any time I thought one of them could get as much as a scraped knee. Those days are gone. I don't have the energy or desire to interfere in minor injury situations. I would never get anything done. Now as I watch or listen to my boys play, I have a constant “danger assessment” running in my brain. I can be completed zoned out from them, and key words, such as: ladder, fire, and ax bring me back to reality so I can further assess the situation before reacting. The only time I interfere is when the danger level reaches “Potentially Life Threatening Injury,” such as being hit by a car or falling off the top of the garage. Broken bones, stitches, black eyes…those are the hazards of childhood.  And the things of which epic tales are made. It’s good for them to fall down, cut their knees, bloody their noses. They need to test their physical limits and get back up when they’ve overestimated their capabilities. And believe me, they test those limits daily. And, I'm going to be perfectly honest here, a broken bone might slow them down enough for six weeks to make me feel like I'm on a little mini vacation.

I know the best color on my boys is “dirt.” There was a time that I tried to control the messes and chaos of everyday life. “Oh, you want to get messy? Let’s play with water. It’s so messy!” No longer do I try to pull this little scam. Now, I’m constantly trying to prevent water messes because floods are the obsession du jour. You can’t begin to imagine the natural disasters unsupervised 5- and 4-year-olds can stage in a back yard in just a matter of 30 minutes or less. I mean, wow. You just can’t. At this house dirt is acceptable. Heck, dirt is encouraged on the daily! If we reach bed time and the boys don’t look like they need to be sandblasted to get the grime off or smell like a trunk full of marathoners’ shorts on a 100 degree day or if there is a good chance I couldn’t cultivate a small vegetable garden using just the grunge I could scrape out from under their fingernails…that day probably wasn’t lived to the fullest.

It's good to be the queen. I always pictured myself raising daughters. Probably because I only had sisters. That obviously didn't happen and won't happen because we are not having more children. But as time marches on, I've realized there is something uniquely special about being the only girl in this house full of testosterone. I was meant to raise boys. I like the high energy levels that fill this house. It invigorates me. And I just can't handle drama and overly emotional beings. (It's probably why I've only had a handful of girlfriends throughout my life.)

Although I had different career aspirations at one time, I love, love, LOVE my roll as stay-at-home-mom and wife. I adore taking care of my family and the love I get from them in return for doing so. This roll makes me happier and makes me feel more fulfilled than anything else has ever come close to. I was meant to be a mom and take care of others. And I hope that I'm teaching the boys to work hard so one day their wives will be in the position to stay home, too, if they so choose.

Yep. I'm the odd (wo)man out in this house, and I have definitely had to adapt to enjoy this crazy little life of ours. I've changed. I've changed for the better and reaped the rewards. But, I definitely wouldn't mind a granddaughter or two...in about 25 years.

Six Years Old

It's a big one, folks. The big oh-six. 6! I can't believe it. Six is the first "kid" birthday. No more preschooler. No more toddler. And definitely no more baby.

This kid has been a wild one. The most calm, relaxed, easy-going baby ever born has morphed into a very fiery little boy. He's got more energy than I can handle. Always going, going, going with no time for rest. He is ridiculously smart with a never ending desire to learn even more. He's not much into story books. No, no. We only leave the library with reference books, and his personal reference books are the only ones he chooses for bedtime stories. (Mom brag: At a parent teacher conference his teacher said, "Ian. Oh, Ian. He has a very advanced mind capable of much more than children his age. But, he still has the maturity of a little boy.") So true. A smarty pants, but so very impulsive.

He builds with any kind of block he can get his hands on and includes water and electrical systems with EVERY single creation. I mean, nothing is complete until there is a water treatment plant and power station nearby. He digs infrastructure. (Mom prediction: This boy's going to be an engineer.)

When I was pregnant EVERYONE referred to him as "Ziggy" the entire time. I couldn't even imagine calling him "Ian" once he was born. But, as soon as I saw him I knew he was Ian, and I never once called him Ziggy again. And just like that, I realize more about the little man everyday. He's becoming quite the "person" with likes and dislikes and opinions and quirks and all the things that make a boy his own little boy. It's pretty awesome. (Mom gush: And I love him like crazy.)

 This was our Christmas card picture in 2008. I sent it out, and tons of people thought I had sent a picture of a doll. Uh, no. That's my son...the cutest baby ever.

Happy Birthday, Ian Boy!