Four years.

Our Charlie turned four years old last week. And boy oh boy, was he ready. He’s been talking up his birthday for months. In fact, according to him, it’s still his birthday because it’s still April. And that’s fine with me. Hey, if you can find a reason to celebrate, by all means—celebrate!

Charlie, this year has been another fascinating peek into who you are, what you love, and how you interpret the world. You’re bigger, you’re braver, you’re LOUDER. More aware, more gentle, more compassionate. Independent. Full of in-the-moment joy (of course, the year has been interspersed with plenty of three-year-old doses of in-the-moment crankiness too.)

What fun we’ve had with you this year, little one. Let’s take a look back.

You love to be silly. And when you make someone laugh, I can see it in your eyes—you feel like you hit the jackpot.





Your silly side gets me giggling.
...

No surprise--you’re still hamming it up with your brother.




You still tell me secrets about how much you love Jacky, when Jacky’s not around.
...

If there’s a moment of silence in the room, you fill it with a request: “Can I have some candy?”

Or ice cream, or cake, or… anything sugary sweet. Sometimes I worry. But I’m learning that a little (five jellybeans) goes a long way.
...

You’re still falling asleep in strange places.

Foot in the popcorn bowl.

But you’ll fall asleep in plenty of normal places too.

Story time with daddy.
...

Your speech is near perfect—all of the right sounds are in almost all of the right places. But your daddy and I never encourage you to say some words correctly. We find the way you say them too adorable to put an end to.

* brefkissed (the first meal of the day)
* lellow (the color of daffodils)
* sumping (I'd like to tell you...)
* teese (brush twice a day)
* mouse (what you put your brefkissed in)
* a-yoad (in regard to Nerf guns)

I see you consciously working on your “L” sounds. Last year you would sing “ya-ya-ya.” This year you make an effort to sing “la-la-la.” Part of me is proud to hear you challenge yourself. Part of me wants you to stop trying.

You have an unexplained affinity for people dressed up like animals. Unlike your brother, you don’t run screaming from them. Instead, you chase them down and jump into their arms.

I admit it--they do look kinda cuddly.
...

You're such a charmer. You started an unexpected exchange of words a few months ago, between you and me. I don’t know where it came from. But I hope it sticks around for awhile.

Charlie: “I’m in love with someone.”

Me: “You are? Who are you in love with, Charlie?”

(He points to me.)
...

Charlie, we've spent such a fun, funny year together. You're always willing to try new things, and you're always striving to be self-sufficient--you just may be the most adventurous soul in our famly. But in the small, quiet moments, you still reach for my hand, still want to be picked up, still want to cuddle and be close. Sometimes it seems like my heart will burst if I love you more. Sometimes it hurts. And then I love you more.

What I'm realizing is that my heart won't burst. My heart grows with you.

Thank you Charlie-Barley, for helping me grow an ever-bigger heart. I am grateful.


On to year five.

ALERT: Charlietalk

Charlie: "Mom, watch me count to twenty."

Me: "Okay."

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17, 18, 19, 20."

"Wow Charlie, that was really good! You're a smarty pants."

"I don't have any pants on. Call me smarty undies."

ALERT: Charlietalk

Me: “Charlie, you are getting heavy.”

Charlie: “And you are getting old!”

ALERT: Charlietalk (PG-13)

Charlie is getting ready to go to preschool with his dad; he comes to give me a kiss goodbye (and to show me his cool outfit and spiky hair). I notice he is tugging at his pants in a conspicuous way.

Me: “Charlie, do you need to go potty?”

Charlie: “No. I’m just squeezing my penis. For some energy.”

ALERT: Charlietalk

Bretty: “Did you hit mommy mean?”

Charlie: “No. I hit her nice.”

ALERT: Charlietalk (rated PG-13)

Since Charlie entered the world of language, we’ve been teaching him the appropriate names for body parts. We did the same thing with Jack. We thought it was a good idea try and keep the subject open, honest, and shame-free.

For the most part, Jack uses the words when appropriate. Done. But our little Charlie. Oh dear.

Right now, Charlie has a dreadful, seemingly incurable case of. . . 

The Potty Mouth.

Current phase: Charlie will tack on a word for a (private) body part at the end of any sentence, at any time, just to see if he can get a laugh. He likes to make people laugh. Comedian.

Preschool was coming up, so we decided to sit Charlie down for a serious talk. We told him about words that were appropriate to use at school. And we talked to him about specific words that were certainly not appropriate to use at school. He listened. He seemed to understand the message we were trying to convey.

Last week we took Charlie to his first day of preschool. He loved it! When school was over he ran to Brett and I, hugged us tightly around the legs, and yelled, “That is the best world EVER!” We hugged him back, buckled him in the car, and started the short drive home.

Charlie: “My school was so awesome!”

Me: “I’m so proud of you! I’m glad you had a good time.”

“And guess what?”

“What?”

“I didn’t even say vagina or anything!”

YES. So very, very proud indeed.

the unwritten summer

Summer is gone. Jack starts school on Monday.

Summer is gone.

I had lofty plans for the blog this summer. And now, here we are at the end. I’m realizing that my many, many goals went unrealized. For instance…

I had plans to: post about several pieces of pink Depression glass I inherited when my wonderfully sassy Aunt Dawnaline passed away earlier this year. Her home had pink dishes on the walls, pink dishes on the counters, pink dishes in the bathrooms, pink dishes in the cabinets. Did you know that during the Depression, cereal companies put these dishes inside cereal boxes as an incentive to buy? I think they’re beautiful.

I had plans to: put up this little tutorial for a denim doormat that I thought might turn out kind of fun.

Still in progress.

I had plans to: share a bit about our trip to St. George and Zion, where we had a wonderful week with my brother and his family:

I had plans to: show off this incredible shawl that was given to me as a gift by a friend I hadn’t seen in a very long time—about seven years. She’s this wonderful quilt-book author. Her name is Ursula, and she has a heart of gold. Obviously, she has hands of gold as well.

I lost my breath when I saw this shawl, and fought off tears to save you and I the embarrassment… thank you, Ursula. (And for the gorgeous cupcakes too.) Cold weather can't get here fast enough.

I had plans to: keep up with Jackspeaks and Charlietalks, like this one (rated PG):

Me: “Charlie, I heard that you said, ‘What the hell?’ in front of your cousin.”

Charlie: “Yeah.”

“Well, remember, we talked about that. Those are the kinds of words that aren’t for little boys.”

“I know.”

“Okay then.”

“Can I say ‘What the poop?’”

“No.”

“Can I say “What the pee?’”

“Nope.”

“Can I say, ‘What the penis?’”

“No!”

“Can I say, ‘What the nipples?’”

“Dude, I don’t even know what you mean when you say that. How about you can say, ‘What the heck.’”

Charlie is silent.

Me: “Go on, try it. What the heck?”

Charlie: “Um… what the heck.”

“C’mon, really say it. Say it loud. What the HECK?!?”

“WHAT THE HECK!?!??”

“Yeah!”

“Hmm. Well, I guess. I guess I can say that.”

“Thank you.”

I had plans to: announce that ReSew is now an eBook. You can have all 144 pages on your desktop in less than five minutes. Isn’t that cool? Yay for instant gratification!

I had plans to: write a post attesting to the fact that sewing connects us globally. Case in point: someone in China linked to a recent tutorial of mine. I used Google Translate to find out what they wrote, hoping it was positive. According to Google, the post says:

The skirt to dress? Have this possible? In the end how to modify it?
We take a look at the WildCards. This site provides good ideas.
Please link to practice page. Another trick is to cut the original T-shirt dress with the upper half.
After reading this demonstration for change clothes. Is not so that we have another new enlightenment?

Google Translate needs some work. (But I was thrilled to see that the post was, indeed, positive. I think.)

But now, at the end of our summer, none of those posts have come to be.

Instead, we’re doing this:

We’re moving.

Brett and I have been talking a lot about our family. Brett just noted yesterday that it’s been a full year since we started talking. It’s turned into a pivotal, enlightening discussion about who we’ve been, who we’ve become, and who we want to be. And through so many talks, we decided what is important to us right now:

• To find a place where our boys can run. And run. And run.


• To grow a little closer to the earth. All of us.


• To hear quiet.


• To see billions of stars at night--instead of scant millions, you know.


• To smell fresh-cut hay. (Brett’s favorite. It makes him happy.)


• To produce a freaking HUGE vegetable garden.

So, we imagined a place. We didn’t know where this imaginary place was until just this week. (In fact, when I started this post a while back, I titled it “On a Road to Nowhere.”)

The imaginary place isn’t imaginary anymore. It’s real. And we’re moving there.

I think we may have just turned our year-long talk—our dream, really—into reality.

I am elated. I am scared.

I was recently lamenting at the dinner table about possibly moving Jack from one school to another in the middle of the year. I was afraid for him. I was going on and on and on and on about it.

Suddenly, Jack interrupted me. He said, “Mom, we’re moving. Get over it.”

Oh. Well. That does seem like the easier route. Thanks, my sweet Jacky. Thanks for letting me know you’re game for this adventure, too.

And although we're now moving to a new home, what I’ve learned through this year-long process is that home isn’t where your house is. It’s where the people you love are. For me, it’s where Bretty and Jacky and Charlie-Barley are. Everything else will fall into place. I believe it.

I recently came across this quote (introduced to me via Soulemama). For me, it was the kind of thing that stopped me cold. I read it several times, and then felt a need to print it out and hang it on my design wall. It says:

Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
--Mary Oliver

Wild and precious. Yes. And one. Only one.

What is it you plan to do?

ALERT: Charlietalk

I’m telling Bretty about a dream I had. An unusually large cat and an even bigger dog were charging a deer in our backyard. The deer stood frozen, helpless against the angry pair. Charlie’s listening in on the story.

Bretty: “Weird dream.”

Me: “Yeah, it was bizarro.”

Charlie: “I didn’t see that deer.”

Me: “It was in my dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes. It was just in my head, bean.”

“In your head?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mean in your hair?”

‘No, I mean in my mind . . . in my imagination. When I was sleeping.”

“Oh yeah, yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. But the next time that happens, I want to see that deer. You have to show me. You have to pick me up and take me with you so I can see.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

ALERT: Charlietalk

There’s a big spider in my office downstairs. BIG. I go to the bottom of the stairs and call up to Bretty.

Me: “Bretty! Come help me catch this spider! It’s super big and I’m freaking out!”

Charlie appears at the top of the stairs, dragging a play-sword behind him. He looks concerned. The sword is at least three feet long. Taller than he is.

Me: “Daddy’s going to help me catch a big spider in my office.”

Charlie: “Is he gonna use my sword?”

ALERT: Charlietalk

It's dinner time. After being asked for the fourth time to start eating, Charlie begins negotiations.

Charlie: "I will eat my dinner, mom. But just not the food. Okay? Just not the food."

ALERT: Charlietalk

We’re taking care of our neighbor’s baby chickens over Memorial Day weekend. They’re just a few weeks old, still tiny. Charlie crouches down and watches the chicks peck around in their crate.

Charlie: “They are delightful!”

Me: “They are, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe later we can take them out and play with them for a little bit.”

“Can we juggle them?”

“Probably not.”

Three years.

Our little Charlie is three years old today. He’s been talking about his birthday for months. Well Charlie, today is THE day. You are three! We are all looking forward to a very special birthday dinner tonight, with each course chosen by the birthday boy himself. On the menu:

• Macaroni and cheese


• Butter beans


• Green beans


• Cinnamon bread


• Ice cream cones

Mmm. Carbalicious.

I very clearly remember the day you were born. You came into the world like a tornado. But as soon as the winds of a terrifyingly fast labor died down, your personality reminded me of your dad—laid back, willing to bend (but not break), adventurous, fun, funny. You are all of those things, little one. But as much as you are like your daddy, there is a magic about you and your ways that is oh-so distinctly Charlie.

Here are a few things I learned about you this year.

You love being outside.

Through every season.

And not just the warm ones, either. Not even Jack
will stay out there in the snow with you for that long.

You love helping me in the garden. (Thanks for the company.)

Your brother is your bestest, best friend.

You’ve told me so--especially in secret, when he is at school.

You can be sure that you are his bestest, best too.

Together, the two of you make messes that put Pig-Pen and the Tasmanian Devil to shame. Truly. It’s astounding. (And you guys are real life. Those guys are cartoons, for cripes sake.)

You are a bit shy.

I find your bashfulness to be quite adorable.
(This and final photo by our amazing picture-taking friend, Mike.)

You get sleepy at funny times, and in funny places.

You’ll sleep before the other shoe hits the floor.

You’ll sleep before you complete your final death-defying, pillow-jumping dismount.

You’ll sleep before finishing the last Cheeto. (Now that is something I cannot do.)

You love anything sweet. Meaning sugar.

I should have never, never introduced you to chocolate.

You love to make people laugh.

From strategically placed flatulent noises to stripping down nakey for a fancy dance, evoking laughter in others brings you joy. You’ve even ventured into your own style of joke-telling:

Charlie: “Why did the water swallow a cow tummy?”
Me: “Um, okay. Why?”
“Because he ate strawberries!”

(You just can’t make this stuff up, folks.)

Charlie, every day you charm me. Every day. You are delightful. You are smart. You are independent. You are sassy. You are helpful. You are cuddly. You are friendly. You are endearing.

You are so loveable.

You are so loved.

Happy birthday, my sweet baby. We are so happy that you are ours. Sugar high and all.

Now, on to year four.

ALERT: Charlietalk

Potty learning has gone remarkably well with Charlie. We've been out of diapers for two months. The Potty Book for Girls has been an instrumental part of Charlie's success. Yes, it's about a girl, but it's an adorable rhyming story that Charlie asked us to read to him every day for months. And often, when we reached this page, he had an interesting editorial comment to make.

Me: "It's time to go with Mom and Dad to buy new underwear. Can you guess who gets to choose that very special pair?"

Charlie: "Oooh! I yuv pears. They are so yummy and juicy. I yuv those pears!"

 

ALERT: Charlietalk

Charlie and I are driving along the freeway, running a morning errand. Suddenly, he spots something on the side of the road.

Charlie: "Mom, yook!"

Me: "What is it?"

"Oooh! It's yions! Yions! Yions!"

My heart falls into my stomach for brief moment. I turn my head to see what he sees. Relieved, I turn my attention back to the road.

"Those are cows, Charlie."

"Oh, yeah. Cows. Dose are cows!"

ALERT: Charlietalk

Me: (Gasp.) "Who did this, Charlie?"

Charlie: "Um. Ummmm, I dunno."

"Noooo... Who did this?"

"Um, I draw. I draw, um... Uh, I draw ... a airpane. It pretty!"

"Yes, it's beautiful. But where do we draw?"

"On da walls."

"Noooo..."

"Oh! On da paper."

"Thank you. That's better."

(History repeating itself, brother to brother. See here.)

ALERT: Charlietalk (or, the meaning of love)

A few weeks ago--after hearing the phrase directed at him well over seven bazillion times--Charlie said, "I love you." (Well, really he said, "I yuv you." But you get the idea.) I wasn't sure he understood the meaning of the words, but it was a wonderful thing to hear. He would say it every time we said it to him, even adding a "too" to the end of the sentence: "I yuv you too." So sweet.

One night at dinner, Brett the Dad began his nightly ritual of grabbing three cookies from the cookie jar. (After he had eaten but before his milk was gone, of course.) He sat back down at the table and handed one cookie to Charlie.

Charlie: "Tank you."

Brett: "You're welcome."

Charlie took a bite. He smiled and added a high-pitched "mmmmm!" Then he said:

"I yuv cookies!"

Later, as Charlie tries on his new summer sandals for the first time at home, he says with delight:

"I yuv my shoes!"

The next morning, driving homeward, Charlie and I turn onto our street.

Charlie: "Mom, home."

Me: "Yes Barley, almost home."

"I yuv home."

Well sheesh. I suppose it's quite obvious now. This little boy knows the meaning of love.

ALERT: Charlietalk

As with Jack, starting way back when, I've been teaching Charlie what I know and love about music. During the past few months, Jack, Charlie, and I have embarked on Ph.D.-style lessons in the music of Devo, The Black Crowes, Erykah Badu, the B-52's, Led Zeppelin, Lenny Kravitz, and Michael Jackson, to name a few. (There are a lot of people to learn about. We're cramming.)

Over these past months I've been impressed with Charlie's musical ear. In the car he pleads "I wan sound! I wan sound!" until we pop in a CD. Sometimes, he can name that tune in just three notes. And he dances like he was born in a mosh pit. Not bad for a boy who is just a few weeks short of two years old. But what has thrilled me the most of late is our time, just Charlie and me, driving in the car. Without the strong musical opinions of Charlie's older brother to contend with, we can just drive along listening to anything I want. Charlie is simply content to listen.

But Charlie is selective. After certain songs are played, a small voice, bubbling with enthusiasm, emerges from the back seat:

"A good song!"

"Yes, Charlie," I reply, beaming. "I like that one too."

He's chimed in with his little sentiment many times for particular songs over and over again. And then, today, he surprised me. I was vacuuming upstairs. Charlie was dancing and running around me as I pushed and pulled. And then I turned the vacuum off.

"A good song!"

Hmm. Well. Yes, he surprised me all right. Back to class we go.

Although the sound of a vacuum is very punk rock, don't you think?