First Recital

Marta, Age 3

Dear Marta,
I started writing this post an hour two hours ago. In that time you have had the hardest, most knock-down tantrum you've ever had - one that had me biting my lips to keep from giggling, because you were so serious, so adamant. You're not often like that. Also in that time you refused to be dressed, refused to wear your pajamas that I had picked out, and yelled for me throughout the 10 minutes we were apart (you were getting a bath from Dad).

You're suddenly a handful at times, throwing fits, insisting on your goals, sticking up for yourself with your sister. I'm told this is what a 3-year-old does. I had a 3-year-old once, but she's nearly 5 now and in the two years since her third birthday I've lost most of my memory. Mostly because of the two of you, partly from the dog and partly from my poor multi-tasking skills. So I don't remember how it is to have a 3-year-old, but in the past few weeks leading up to your third birthday, life has been more dynamic than usual.

On the night following your third birthday party (the second of your parties, the one at Grandma and Pop's, on the day before your actual birthday), you called out in your sleep, "I WISH I WAS A GROWN-UP! I WISH I WAS A GROWN-UP!"

It was strange, coming from you. You, my Marta, are our little one, our baby, our sweet kid who loves all things that kids should, like popsicles and trikes and bubbles. It would have made more sense if it had been Berit, who often seems like she's 4 going on 14.

You still look like a baby to me. Your blond hair is thin and turns into ringlets when it's hot outside. Your cheeks are round and pink, and it's hard to tell if you've even grown eyebrows yet. Your feet are pork chops and your knees are square. Your voice is cute and the edges of your words are rounded, baby-like still, so that your reading and spelling actual words (Marta, Berit, Mommy, Daddy, Mosey, Doublestein, Dog, Mimi, Pop, Go, Stop, Tub, Bed) seems even crazier than it is. You know the sounds of every letter of the alphabet and can tell me what any word starts with. You count to 10 in Spanish and French, and to 100 in English with a little prompting. Your favorite number is 22.

You draw pictures of yourself now - you just decided to try, and you should have seen how proud you looked when you did it. You don't use a booster or a high chair anymore (though you probably could and it would be helpful), and you're trying to use big cups instead of sippy cups (though each time you try you get nervous and ask for a top).

You understand, know about, completely get the idea of going on the potty. You know you can, you know everyone else does. You often do - you spend most mornings and afternoons in "big girls." But you get tired of the stress, I think, and by evening you put on your own Pull-Up.

You still run full-throttle and trip constantly. You still need help going up and down stairs. You jump without considering your landing. I should have you in swim class, in ski lessons. I feel terribly guilty about this, but you're in school three days a week now. Three days! For three hours! And you love it. I don't like to push you to do more than that. You're barely 3-years-old.

When I made your bed this morning, I pulled your covers back and found three stacks of books hiding there. When you get up at night you usually tell me when I can leave your room; when you've been comforted and don't need reassurance anymore.

From the day you were born you loved animals, especially dogs and horses, and that hasn't changed. If there's a choice between an animal and a princess story you choose animal - same goes for coloring books, movies, dress-up and playtime. Right now your favorite toys are unicorns and My Little Ponies. You'd quickly choose a big, 48-piece puzzle over watching a movie.

Though your tantrum tonight was over a candy cane, you'd sooner choose salty over sweet, suckers over chocolate, cinnamon toast over any other breakfast. Ninety percent of your hydration comes from milk; you have very little patience for water and don't like juice or anything fizzy.

You and I are buddies. We work well together, and we have fun doing most things. I don't think I push you like I do your sister, and you give me more leeway than she does. She and I can talk about anything, you and I can hang together. It's nice to have two kids with two different relationships. It's especially nice that the two of you are best friends, yet are so different.

The very best thing about you, my Marta, is your sweetness. At your birthday party the other night, when you sat at the end of the table overlooking your pink and purple unicorn cake, with three candles shining, while we sang "Happy Birthday to Marta," you scooped your arms around like you were going to pick up a big teddy bear, then clasped yourself - you were giving everyone there a hug at once, a giant hug with a huge, grateful smile on your face. You are so kind, so loving, so genuinely sweet, and I have to say that age 3 may be tougher on your mama than it is on you, even with the odd tantrum. You are my baby, my Marta, my Little One. You are getting Big.

Love, Mom

Marta Speaks

After Marta had been asleep for about four hours, on the evening of her 3rd birthday party, she said in a dream, "No Berit, don't blow out the candles!" And then, "Phewwwwwwwwwwww" - she blew them out herself.

From The Mouths of B and Mart

Berit was having a tough time falling asleep in her room with no window coverings. Trevor noticed on the monitor that she was sitting up, gazing out the window. He went in and said, "What'cha doing?" She said, "Oh, just wishin' upon that star."

When Andrea was here this weekend, she asked Marta what she wanted for her upcoming birthday. "Berit, Aunt Andrea, Mama, Daddy.." she began. "No," Andrea said. "What presents?" And Marta said, "Just the people. I want the people to be my presents."

Fall Cuties

All I Want For Christmas

Berit, what do you want for Christmas?

"Barbies. The new Rapunzel Barbie, the Barbie with the dogs and she's a veterinar....(mumble). A boy Barbie, too. Barbie movies. OH! Sesame Street movies, new dance shoes, art supplies, music. And lots of Barbies."

Marta, what do you want for Christmas?

"PONIES! MY LITTLE PONIES ALL MY LITTLE PONIES ALL OF THEM ONLY PONIES!"

Dreams

The reason I think I'm pregnant (I'm not) is because of the dreams.

I've always had really vivid dreams, and have also always wished I didn't dream at all - just a flat, constructive sleep. (Incidentally, my dad also wishes this, because he can. not. stand to hear about my dreams. So he should probably stop reading.)

The girls have started having regular nightmares. Berit can be soothed by having someone talk with her about them, and then, sometimes, having one of us sleep with her. We don't mind. It works.

Marta, however, has had nightmares for two straight nights, wherein she cries out every half-hour or so, yells at people, kicks and hits, and sobs. She's not comforted when I go to her - she doesn't quite wake entirely, so she's more irritated. I sleep in her room, in the bed next to hers, so I can at least whisper comforting things when she cries and rub her back. But it doesn't seem to help. I've cut out sugar before bed, tried filling her belly, tried not filling her belly. I don't know.

But I'm feeling like there might be something more - the moon, maybe? Because I've had unrelenting bothersome dreams, too. Dreams like I had when I was pregnant (and not the really, really good ones). Not scary, but nagging. For example, twins. We should adopt twins, not just one baby. In my dream I weigh the pros and cons of this for hours. I make an appointment with our case worker. I calculate how long it will take me to drive there and home, and whether or not I can make it while the sitter's home with the kids. I wonder if I want to risk driving down (you know, because I might die in a car accident).

And then I dream about babies. Everyone's new babies. Baby stuff, baby smells, baby names. Usually I'm not holding the babies, but want to. And then I weigh the pros and cons of having another baby. Or having another baby AND adopting our baby. If I get pregnant today, could I manage to travel to South Korea next month? Then the kids would be close together in age. Babies.

And of course I dream about money. Because here we are, wrapping up the house, and paying every crazy bill one pays while wrapping up a complete home remodel. And so I dream about the girls' tuition, and water bills, and surprise bills (whoops honey, I forgot to tell you I decided to add an apartment on top of the garage, sorry), and oh, the adoption bills.

And then I dream about a vacation. Because we want to take the girls to Disney this February; one final vacation with just the four of us, something really special to them before the new baby arrives. But, well, note the above paragraph. So my brain teases me with telling the girls about Disney, and with arrivals and the fun we'd have, and then throws in our not being able to go, and how no one will really know but me, but still, I want to go, too, and am I letting my kids down?

Last night, after having the twin dream, I decided to just stay up. It was exceptionally bright outside (so maybe yes, the moon after all?) and I just sat there, listening to Trevor sleep - he sleeps like a child, hard and unworried, the sleep of someone who worked hard for 12 hours, and then had a glass of wine before bed. I went in to Marta, I stayed in her room, I came back to mine. I obsessed about the house (should we move the girls into one room when Baby comes, to preserve the playroom? Could Baby share his/her room with playroom? Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no). I let the dog out, then in.

I think we've all had just about enough of this middle place, this limbo. I think we're all ready for stability, for routines, for our own bedrooms and steady work. Will this make the dreams go away, for everyone? Or will our sleep always be as transient as the moon, wherever we are?