Kids' Snapshot 2014

Here we are, at the end of 2014 and there is so much of life I haven't documented. The last three years have been a blur. This year will get its own summary, I hope, before I leave it behind forever. I wish I had a better memory or that I was better about writing down all the small hilarious and heartbreaking moments that make up life with growing children. I don't take enough video of the kids and I know I will regret that. Then again, I unearthed a number of old video tapes that had been carefully packed by movers along with a supermagnet. Life is like that. (Suddenly I am unsure if the word "video" is one people still use, or if, like asking if those jeans come in flare-leg, it's just a giveaway of my age.)

On our Christmas trip to North Dakota, I listened to Amy Poehler's book Yes, Please. I really liked this book for a number of reasons, but one particular thing I liked was her summary of her boys at this moment in time. I was inspired to do the same. Too often I'm stuck in my head, writing about my own feelings or things that happen to me. When I look back at my life, it's the things that are going on around me that are the most interesting. The people who surround me, the adventures we have, the action of my life and not just the feelings are the things I want to revisit. (Also, it was at the end of three years in Europe that I realized that I take waaay too many pictures with no people in them, then want to see only pictures with people in them when I got home. Blerg!) So here is a written snapshot of my kids right now, at the end of 2014, when I am smack dab in the middle of raising them as best I can and they are turning out pretty okay anyway.

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Jacob is my mystery, my enigma. He is brilliant and at times has an almost photographic memory for the things he reads. He is always reading. He reads non-fiction about biology, chemistry, the natural world, crazy world records, experiments, and animals. He reads fiction about magic, science, middle school, animals, and never mysteries or history. His eyes are full of questions and they are eager to find answers. He wants to know how the natural world works, and if I can get him outdoors he examines bugs and plants and animals. In life I think he looks like my side of the family, but in pictures he always reminds me of his dad. Jacob loves Minecraft and mods and is interested in programming his own games. He spends too many hours watching mod videos on YouTube and learning things I do not begin to understand, but which are very important to him. I know he would explain them to me in detail if I had any idea what he was talking about. He loves Pokemon cards. He misses his friends in Germany so much that some days it brings him to tears. He plays rough with the dog and sometimes his sisters. He discovered this year that he loves fishing with his dad.

Jacob is sensitive and more observant than we give him credit for, and yet often oblivious to what the rest of us think of as "life". Little things like putting shoes on the right feet and clean clothes and not reading a book while crossing the street aren't really considerations in his world. His world is mostly internal, and I assume there are infinite stories he has mentally written in his head somewhere. Sometimes they sneak out when he draws his monster cartoons or writes in class, or when I ask him what his stuffed animals are doing. I love seeing these glimpses of what is going on in that big head of his. I think his world is safe, and happy, and innocent. I hurt inside when I think that this is his last year of elementary school. Middle school is such a brutal time for almost all kids, but particularly quirky sensitive kids who are smart and unusual and sometimes lonely. It is hard sometimes to let him be who he is, when the world can be unkind to those that are different. But then I see that his peers are not unkind to him, that teachers believe he has a bright future and that Jacob himself is optimistic and content and doesn't see himself as being as different as I fear. I hope that aura of innocence and joy is a permanent part of who he is, as it has been since he was a happy and easy baby that lit up our lives. He wants to be a scientist, or a biologist. It is often hard to decide what the important battles are with Jacob. Hygiene is important. Manners are important. Is holding a fork correctly important? Can he wear velcro shoes for the rest of his life? We don't always understand our boy, but he tries so hard to do what we ask of him. Unless we're asking him to take a shower, clean his room, or eat vegetables. Jacob is ten years old.

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Brynn is my saving grace. Some days I wonder why I got three slackers and only one responsible child. Most days I appreciate the blessing that I got a responsible one at all. She was born a teenager, but secretly likes being a child. She loves makeup and pretty things and dressing up. She romps around on the floor with the dog and her siblings. She loves gymnastics and is weirdly flexible. She looks exactly like her beautiful aunt Megan but has the slight build of my side of the family. She wants to be a veterinarian, but is the one who always gets bit or scratched and I think animals might be out to get her. Brynn is caring and pays attention to details, and I see a lot of "nurse" in her.

She is the quietest of our children. She reads about horses and animals and girls with diaries. She is thoughtful and helpful and likes to do kind things for others.

Brynn makes friends wherever she goes, and the variety of her friends surprises me. Her best friend this year is loud and sassy, of which Brynn is neither. Her next best friend is even quieter than she is. The third friend I have met is a boy who has a girl's haircut and boots, sings hilariously age-inappropriate songs on the bus, and obviously does not give a rip about what the world might think of him. Brynn thought he was a girl with a boy's name the first two weeks of school, and I was delighted that it did not even phase her to discover that he was in fact a boy.

Brynn does not particularly like to brush her teeth, but tells the fewest fibs. She loves having a clean space and rebels daily against her messy sister. She values privacy and cleanliness and organization. She is also sensitive, but not too much so. Her favorite green vegetable is Brussels sprouts. She helps me every single day. She keeps track of appointments and to-do lists, sometimes so closely that it makes me crazy to have so many reminders. She is the best at finding lost items. She is patient, and has spent the last year learning to knit by working on the same eight inches of scarf. She is a mother hen who takes care of her family and her dog. She has a strong sense of right and wrong. Every morning she waits, 100% ready to leave for school while everyone else scrambles to find socks and mittens. Brynn needs more hugs and reassurance than she probably gets. We forget that she is still a kid and sometimes ask too much of her. She is nosy. She likes school mostly just because she gets to see her friends. She is coordinated and athletic and beautiful and even though I know she came from my body, I wonder how she can possibly be my child. Brynn is eight going on eighteen.

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Norah. Unlike my other children, Norah can mostly be explained in a giant pile of adjectives. Loud. Stubborn. Creative. Slightly inappropriate. Messy. Outgoing. Sweet. Frustrating. Twinkly. Sassy. Extra loud. Mischievous. Hilarious. Norah has been a challenge to me since before she was even born. She was a fussy, difficult baby. She was a stubborn, difficult toddler. She was the one I couldn't wait to get into school, and the one I had at home with me the longest. Norah tests everything about me as a mother and a human, and charms the socks off everyone else she meets. There are days when I remind myself she is no longer three and that she consistently gets positive feedback from teachers, so I should work on changing my image of her as "difficult". There are days when she stamps her feet and screams and refuses and defies everything I tell her to do or stop doing. Frequently those days are the same day.

Norah is a star. She demands attention and has a great stage voice and will someday be a huge community theater presence. She wants to be a singer. I believe she may also have a solid career in stompdancing if she chooses to pursue it. Norah has a face like mine, eyes like mine, hair like mine. She is solid and muscular and toned, with a bubble butt that is all Weinand. If you accept my mother's opinion, she has my "willfulness". I like to think she has my sense of humor. She can sing on key with a lovely voice, which delights me to no end. I love hearing her sing along in the car. She wants all the attention she can get. She is bossy, and tells her sister all the "lines" when they play pretend. She says some of the most random and hilarious things, and she is quick to give a clever response. She often makes her siblings crazy with her demands and her need to be in charge. I don't think she cares one bit what other people think of her. Other people mostly love her anyway. Norah is currently in a phase where she would like everything to be fair, but what she thinks of as "fair" mostly just means that everything must include her. Come to think of it, that is not really a phase as much as just Norah.

She loves to draw pictures for everyone to show she loves them. She and her sister like to do random acts of kindness. She loves to put on "shows" for anyone who will watch her, and they involve dance and drama and gymnastics and most often, a general silliness that undermines the choreography that Brynn insists they rehearse. Norah is spontaneous and busy and leaves a tornado of clothes and books and dolls behind her. When Norah is happy, she fills a room with light and laughter and head-shaking amusement. When Norah is angry, everyone suffers. I am convinced I do not have the ability to produce gray hair, because I have been Norah's mom for seven years and haven't found one yet. She has an imaginary friend named Millie, who is a mermaid and takes fabulous trips to Paris. Millie has been with us for quite a while and I kind of like her. She does whatever she wants and never throws tantrums. Norah likes to "pretend" with her dolls about dates and boyfriends and kissing. She often needs to be reminded about what is appropriate play for a 1st grader, and I close my eyes and pray that she is not saying these things at school. Sometimes I hear her yelling at customer service representatives on her personal Barbie phone. I have normal mom-worries about my other kids learning to take care of themselves in the big bad world. I never worry about Norah because she will steamroll anyone to get what she wants. Someday that will be an asset, and I hope I can cultivate it while also trying not to be obliterated by the force that is my youngest daughter.

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Mr.Wyatt, my baby. My little man, my sweet patootie. He makes me sad and glad every day that it is the last time I am experiencing each phase of little boy life. Like all youngest children, he gets away with more than the others. Unlike most younger boys, I cannot compare him at all to his brother because they are like night and day. Wyatt is loud, and likes dirt and trucks and action figures. He does not like to wear clothing. He is sweet and stubborn but mostly sweet. And stubborn. He loves to sit with me and snuggle. He is always ready for storytime, and loves "Llama Llama" and "Caps for Sale" (aka his "peddler" book.) He whines frequently. He sings constantly. He is not worried about peeing entirely into the toilet. He loves bathtime and hates haircuts. I adore all the things about him that are "traditional" little boy traits. Wyatt was a surprise gift to our lives, not exactly a bonus child as much as an early entry. We were, however, positive right away that he was the perfect finishing touch.

His eyes are Beattie eyes, blue and smiling and just like his father's. His smile is a perfect row of tiny teeth that he insists are all getting loose. His hair remains sunbleached all year. I wonder if he will be tall and slender like my family or tall and muscular like Tom's. He likes windpants and sweatpants and no pants. He likes "handsome dude" button-up shirts and rugby polos. He occasionally likes to comb his hair. He has zero worry or shame that he frequently wets the bed and has to wear special nighttime undies. We all know it's because he drinks gallons of water every day. He loves kindergarten and he loves his teacher and his teacher loves him. She claims that he never whines or is clingy, that he does his work without complaint, and is a joy to have in class. He likes to play outside in all weather. This year he loves the color turquoise and wants to be a fireman, He loves Legos and Minecraft and the book Creepy Carrots. Every day he throws all his clothes on the floor. One of his most favorite special treats was getting to sleep in my bed when Tom was gone, and now that Tom is always home I mourn our special nighttime chats.

Wyatt tells me he loves me many times every day. He always forgets he's not supposed to point with his middle finger. Whereas Jacob was always very independent and the girls lost a lot of Mom-time to younger siblings, Wyatt's life is very intertwined with that of his mama and we both like it that way. He makes me regret that I did not have the time to bond with each of my children like this. He makes me grateful that I am doing it with all my heart now, and can appreciate it that much more. He depends on his siblings for interaction and entertainment. He is hilarious when he plays alone. He loves superheros and dress-up and bikes and snow. He tortures the dog slightly less than his brother. He breaks a lot of things. He makes my heart melt every single day. Even at my most frustrated with his five-year-old meltdowns and whining and crazy-making messes and habits, he provokes bittersweet feelings because I know he is the last to make me feel that way. I love being in his classroom and seeing that he is just like all the other little boys, except maybe a little cuter.