I’m going to skip right past the part where I whine and cry and carry-on about how my girl’s growing up and how my poor mama-heart is breaking and how I’m freaking out because I’m suddenly dead-certain that I’ve done absolutely the wrong things during the past four years to prepare her for school—she has absolutely no idea how to tie a shoe for example, nor has she ever encountered a wall-mounted pencil sharpener. Yep, I’m going to skip all that because I have something much more important to discuss:

School. Shopping.

I LOVE school shopping. There. I said it. When I was young (and then still when I was not-so-young), I really looked forward to (nerd alert!) school starting each year. For me, the start of the school year was like the true New Year—it just felt so promising, like anything could happen. Almost… (super nerd alert!) magical.

I am the person that Back-to-School commercials are written for. I eat it up. When stores start breaking out their Back-to-School signage, and stacks of paper and sparkling displays of brand new pens (!) begin spilling into the aisles, I get a little shiver. Yes. Still.

I have many, many stock reasons for needing another notebook, and I can come up with a project requiring a brand new Sharpie marker on the spot if my husband intercepts me slipping school supplies into our cart.

However, since I’ve been out of school, I also feel a wistful little pang whenever I see those beautiful displays of school supplies. My time has passed. I no longer have a (legitimate) reason to buy a brand-new protractor or a 10-pack of pretty folders each fall. <sigh.>

But! This year all that changed because this year a very special piece of paper arrived in our mailbox. This year, we have a school supply list! A list! Of supplies! That we HAVE to get! From the Back-to-School section!!!

My daughter and I set a date, made a plan, and, clutching my her precious list in my hand, we headed out to the store. (Tra-la!)

Of course, she’s only 4, and she’ll be attending half-days in a pre-kindergarten classroom, so our list was mostly comprised of things like paper plates and Dixie cups (to share with the other students), but she did get to pick out a back pack and a special folder.

And I don’t think I need to tell you that we also came home with some new pencils and glue sticks (And a notebook! Everyone needs a notebook!) to play with at home. We were school shopping, after all. For the first time! I had a precedent to set, and of course, my nerd status to consider.

She’s been carefully filling up her new notebook ever since…I think she gets it.

Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger

“Mama! We should make a band! We’ll call ourselves ‘Stop Sign Heads!’”

She’ll be doing the singing and playing the guitar. Her brother’s on maracas.

Apparently, I get to play the wooden spoon and plastic bucket.

Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger

She was talking so quickly that I couldn’t understand the words tumbling out of her mouth, but I could tell that whatever she was trying to tell me, it was big. And exciting! EXCITING!

Eventually, I was able to help her calm herself enough to deliver her message: “Mama! I can read Sully’s [her brother’s] beach ball book! And I just did! I read it! With the real words! I! READ! ALL! THE! WORDS!”

Now, I knew full well that my just-turned four-year-old hadn’t actually read a book. I knew she’d flipped the pages and recited the words she’d memorized from hearing them over and over again. I also knew she’d been doing that since she was two, and this was not a new skill…But. Something was different. I decided her brother’s nap could wait a bit and we followed her back into the family room to listen to her “read.”

Something has shifted for my daughter. She’s got a new understanding. As I sat and watched her read the book in her hands (all while looking at me rather than the pages), I saw such pride in her eyes. Total belief in her skills. Whether she’s begun connecting the idea that the letters and words she sees around her actually hold stories, or if she’s simply beginning to truly grasp that one day she will learn how to read for herself, I’m not sure. The difference in her perspective could be anything. But I do know that as far as she’s concerned, she can read–only that one book, but she can read!

 And really, after witnessing her absolute confidence in herself as she recited that book to me…I was inclined to agree.

“Yes! I heard you read, Sweetie! You read all the words!”

 The baby never did nap that day…we were too busy listening to stories.

Our very favorite membership perks so far are the giant jars of golden honey we’ve received, made by bees that live right on the farm. We go through a lot of honey at our house, so I was very excited when we had our first taste of “farm honey” and discovered it to be beyond delicious. I went on (at length, knowing me) raving about how special it was that we are able to enjoy honey from the bees who collected nectar from, and pollinated, the very plants we’ve been enjoying our vegetables from.

Apparently, my enthusiasm was contagious (and a bit misleading) because now my daughter regularly asks whether the honey she’s eating is “Bee Honey” or “Store Honey.”

 Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger

Right now, Crocodile Flower is only a teeny tiny caterpillar, but as long as we take good care of her, and offer plenty of fresh milkweed, we’ll be able to watch as she grows and grows and then creates her chrysalis. In about three weeks or so, Eva and I will be able release our beautiful monarch butterfly into the wild.

The other day, she and I were discussing a veterinarian office we’d seen, and she asked me whether the animal doctor took care of caterpillars too. I told her I didn’t know, but that I thought most vets cared for pets like dogs and cats and bunnies and things. Eva thought for a minute, and then she announced “I am going to be a caterpillar doctor when I grow up.”

A noble profession, indeed.

Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger

But then we brought him home, and things were…pleasant! Sure she had some moments of regression, and there were definitely days when she needed a little extra reassurance that we still loved her just as much as we always had. But for the most part, our girl seemed to accept her new brother—in fact, oftentimes she even seemed happy he was around.

And then he learned to walk. A lot. Very quickly.

Suddenly, our daughter’s world was turned upside down (often literally!) as her brother discovered entire new spaces he’d never been aware of before. I spent so much of my day chasing him around—many times having to leave my daughter mid-story, mid-game, or even mid-sentence to save my son from certain death (or at least from certain injury.)

One day, about a month ago, she hit her limit. Our daughter had taken all she was going to take, and she let us know it by screaming, at the top of her lungs, for a very long time. This was extremely out of character for her, and we were caught completely off-guard. For weeks, we dealt with long, drawn-out, dramatic tantrums—sometimes many times per day—while I frantically scoured parenting websites and brought home armloads of books from the library: searching, searching for the answer. Trying desperately to help her feel better.

We explored dietary causes and environmental triggers. I read about developmental changes in almost-four-year-olds. We wracked our brains for anything that had changed in her life that could have possibly brought on such dramatic tantrums practically overnight.

And then finally, FINALLY I realized that her tantrums coincided perfectly with her brother’s learning to walk. As he grew more mobile, she grew more anxious. As he watched his world grow, she was watching her own spin out of control. He was into everything—messing with her stuff, knocking things over—and, worst of all, taking up so much more of our time. No wonder she was screaming. I would have been too. Here, finally, was the fallout we’d been bracing for way-back-when…the adjustment period we’d long-since written off as Not Happening. It had arrived—ten months later, but it had arrived.

And so, we’ve launched into a campaign to help our daughter reclaim her security in our family. We’ve spent lots of extra time with her—our big girl—and focused on the  very special place she’ll always hold in our hearts and our lives. And slowly, slowly we’re seeing her security return. Little by little, we’ve begun to have more calm days than stormy ones.

Just the other night, she leaned over and told me her brother is her best friend…I think we’re going to be ok.

Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger

So the other night, my husband and I enjoyed a nice dinner out with friends. As usual, the men and women both congregated into our respective groups, and launched deep into conversation. As the men joked around and debated which Star Wars film is the very best, we women talked and talked and talked…mainly about our kids.

It wasn’t until we’d already spent a good twenty minutes comparing potty training notes and tips and horror stories that we realized we’d been speaking very loudly. About poop. And various other potty-related topics…all while surrounded by many other people trying to enjoy their dinners. Oops.

“No potty talk at the table” we tell our kids? Apparently, “Do as I say not as I do” is more appropriate!

Sorry, fellow diners!

Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger

Well, I was wrong. The class is now over, the nursery is finished, and all the gifts from our baby shower have been put away. It’s a little like those days between Christmas and New Year’s: a state of suspension waiting on the “Next Big Thing.” And yet, it’s so much worse than that! Not only am I suspended between events, but I’m uncomfortable to boot. My feet and hands and face have swelled with excess fluid and, far from wearing “any shoe I want,” I’m stuck with the same pair of Croc flip-flops day after day. I sleep on a mound of six pillows every night to keep the fluid from pooling in my face, and I spend my evenings with a hot pad wrapped around my back and three throw pillows beneath my feet. I pout regularly.

And yet, I know this is a time to treasure. A time to revel in my husband’s closeness and my little girl’s still-developing life inside of me. I know that all too soon, my “couple time” with my husband will be much rarer and my little girl will one day grow up to tell me all the things I did wrong in raising her. But for now—despite the swollen feet and sore back—I have my husband all to myself and my little girl is still safely and lovingly stowed away inside me.  These things alone are worth putting off the Big Event a little while longer.

Posted by Stacy, a Dot-arilla Blogger

Fast forward (quite) a few years, and…I’ve got TWO kids with summer birthdays. Less than a month apart. How did I let this happen??

I carried those pitying feelings for poor summer-born kids right up until it came time to plan my daughter’s first birthday party. And that’s when I realized the power of the summer birthday: you can hold it outdoors! Picnics! Swimming pools! Bonfires! …I wouldn’t have to clean my house!

To say my husband and I have embraced the summer birthday would be an understatement. We’ve taken the old bit of truth about first and second (and third?) birthday parties being more for the parents than the kids, and run with it.

That first party was a doozy. “We never did have a housewarming party,” we reasoned. “This can take its place!” “It’s outside, we don’t have to worry about how many people we invite,” we said. “She’s only going to turn one once,” we rationalized. And then we proceeded to hold a (wonderfully) massive backyard barbecue birthday party for our sweet girl ourselves. It was crazy and festive and a whole bunch of fun.

And we really, really want to do it again this summer when our son turns one. Three weeks after his sister’s birthday.

Which is why we’d decided that this year, her fourth, would be the year we begin hosting a small, simple “kid” party for our daughter. We figured we’d let her invite a couple friends, play some games, eat some cake—you know, keep things simple.

And then, last week over lunch, our girl announced that she wanted to have a garden party for her birthday. “We’ll need ribbons and bows and flowers EVERYWHERE!” she said. “And I’ll invite everyone I like and they’ll all dress up!” She went on to outline her ideal menu (dessert-heavy) and flesh out her guest list (well over 30 when all was said and done) while I dutifully took notes (humoring her.)

 Now obviously, we’re not going to indulge EVERY party whim our daughter has, and we’ll be cutting her guest list down to a third or so, but she was so sweet as she relayed all her very special plans that we’ve agreed to a slightly larger party than we originally had in mind.

Which is making it a little tough to rationalize the raging blow-out we want to throw for ourselves our son just three short weeks later. Hmmm…we never did have that housewarming party…

Posted by Shannon, a Dot-arilla Blogger

It became time to make new ears…but how to convince her to give up her beloved pink and black paper pair?

The tail she wears is basically a strip of knit pink yarn (think tiny scarf) that she tucks into the back of her pants and skirts. I decided that some knit ears would be a perfect match for her tail…and much more durable than construction paper! So, as phase one of Project Kitty Ear Replacement, I innocently took her along on a trip to the yarn store. As we walked through the store, feeling the soft yarns and exclaiming over the beautiful colors, I started a conversation about which yarn she thought would make the best kitty fur. She immediately latched onto a soft, fuzzy burnt orange yarn, gushing “Oh! A ginger kitty! That’s the best kind!”

Luckily for me, she’s (practically) four, and completely ok with the idea of buying a skein of yarn just because it reminds you of a cuddly ginger kitty. (Oh, who am I kidding? I’m in my thirties, and I’m completely ok with the idea as well.) Anyway, I got the yarn home, and began experimenting on the sly with some ear shapes and styles that would allow her to slip them on a headband just like her trusty paper ears. 

Once I had perfected the design, it didn’t take long to whip up a pair of fuzzy ginger kitty ears one night while she was sleeping. I decided the best way to (hopefully) replace her paper ears would be to just leave the new ears for her to discover on her own when she got up in the morning. I left them at her place on our kitchen table, where she would see them at breakfast, and I crossed my fingers she wouldn’t toss them straight into the bottom of her dress up trunk.

Really, I had no reason to worry.

When she got up the next day, she walked directly to them like she had kitty radar…and froze. Her eyes got huge, and she wordlessly looked up to see whether they were really for her or not. Her daddy gave her the go-ahead, and she pretty much wore them for the next four days straight (taking them carefully off to sleep, of course.)

A few days later, she and I were chatting over lunch, and she said “You know what’s funny, Mama? …I wear my new ginger ears, and I still wear my old tail. Even though it’s pink.”

(pause, pause)

“…would you like me to make you a ginger tail, Baby?”

“YES! YES! YES!”

And back to the knitting needles I go!