Pre-K doin's.

 I've always thought that things like pre-k graduations are so silly and unnecessary.  Logically, I buy into the idea that kids don't need participation trophies, and that we don't need to make up silly milestones for them.

Then, I had a kid in Pre-K.  I'm not saying I don't think it's silly, because it is.  And it's certainly unnecessary.  But, the kids all seemed pretty proud about graduating, and I'd be lying if I told you I didn't get teary during the ceremony.

It started with Dani being named "Pre-K Student of the Year" for her school.  This meant she got to attend a local baseball game and was recognized on the field--and got to run out onto the field with the home team.

She stayed out there for the National Anthem.  She was so proud.  And, it was pretty awesome, the whole family got to watch her from the stands.

 Two days later, it was Pre-K graduation.  Nothing like a hot summer night in an un-air conditioned elementary school cafeteria.

 Dani got to lead the assembly by holding the mic and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.  (teary mommy)

 Look at this kid's face.  She's walking to receive her Pre-K "diploma".  She's beaming.

It's impossible not to be excited for her--because she's so excited about being ready for real school!

 Tori and Tommy managed to sit relatively still during the event.

 An attempt at a family photo was, as usual, like herding cats.  Tori is channeling her inner Bangles "Walk like an Egyptian" vibe.  This was the best, of many attempts.

It's amazing how fast this time flies.  Dani's headed to kindergarten.  Kindergarten!  (And Tori to Pre-K)

When we were driving to the Mohawks game, the night she was receiving the Student of the Year honor, she was in the back seat telling Tori, "To be the student of the year, you have to work hard and do your best every day in pre-k, Tori."

She is amazingly smart, and articulate for her age.  (I realize every parent says this.)

And, we're so proud of her.

 

A few kid sayings of late...

Some weeks ago, Tori hopped into the coveted second row minivan seat (that Dani had asked for) and when Dani protested, Tori's response was, "You snooze, you lose, kid."  (Thanks Grandma.)

Now, all three kids vie to be the first at anything so they can hurl the "you snooze you lose" taunt.

 

Last night I was talking to Dani and Tori about my parents' impending visit.  I was mentioning that there were a few things in the house that I wanted Grandpa to fix.  I told them that Grandpa could fix anything.  Dani disagreed.  "Grandpa can't fix people, mommy."

 

At dinner tonight, Tori announced that she would like to call me Bethany.  When I said no, she could call me mommy, she settled on mom, and told me if I were a balloon she would pop me.

 

Dani's favorite jokes to tell these days;

What do you call a cow with no legs?  Ground beef.

Why can't you hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom?  Because the "p" is silent.

 

 



To Tori, as you turn 4.

 They say the middle child is always the complicated one. 

I don't know if that's true.

But it must be hard to find your place in the family when someone is always older, and doing things before you, and someone is always younger and needing more attention.

But you handle it with grace, usually.

Little Tori, you are suddenly not-so-little.  You're at that point in your childhood where your pendulum swings from desperately wanting to be a big girl, doing things for yourself without help, to desperately wanting to be the baby, snuggly and dependent on us for the simplest things.

You're brave.  And loud.  And my, you are funny.

You can get away with murder because you are so damn adorable.  The kind of adorable that strangers remark about when we go out.

And like the nursery rhyme, you are the little girl, with the little curl, right in the middle of your forehead...and when you are good, you are very, very good, and when you are bad, well, we all know the rest.

You thought that you would get to go to school as soon as you turned four.  I know you're excited to ride the bus like your big sister, but you've got to be patient....patience doesn't come easy at your age.

As you've carved your niche in the family, you are excelling in being in the kitchen with me.  We baked your birthday cake together--you picked it out, and all the toppings.  You decorated it yourself (and it was beautiful!).  You're my expert egg cracker, batter mixer, and dinner helper.

You are a bolt of lightning when I walk through the door after work..."Mommeeeeeeeeeeeee's home!" followed by a full-on sprint to give me a hug.  (Unless there is something really good on TV, in which case I am invisible.)

If our family were a class, you'd be the class clown.  And you'd win best smile.

 You're the catalyst for chaos in the house...so full of energy and silliness that Dani and Tommy can't help but follow you.  From your inexplicable and silly phrases, "I got a fruita in my toota" as you dance around shaking your booty, to your unparalleled couch bouncing ability, Daddy and I often have to turn our heads so the other kids don't see us giggling at your antics. 

In the middle of a tantrum, you demand "a hug and a kiss".  And you wrap your arms around me and hold me tight, as inside the toddler and big girl battle for dominance...sometimes it works and you calm down, other times, the toddler in you is stronger and the tantrum continues.

You, Tori are our brightest light, and our biggest challenge.

Keep diving in head first.

 And keep snuggling with me.

Happy birthday my sweet Tori.

Where does the time go?

 Our sweet little Tori turned three yesterday.  Three!  I swear, just a few minutes ago she was a wriggly little baby.  A quiet, easy, little baby.  Wow, that didn't last long!

She's our little free spirit.  So often silly, and almost as often mischevious.  When things get quiet, it's not because she's behaving, but because she's getting into something.  And she's just so hard to get angry at, because she is just. so. damn. cute.  It's those eyes.  Those big brown eyes that make you melt a little bit inside when you look at her.  She's the kid that strangers stop you to tell you that she is just precious and adorable.  Because she is.

She can throw a tantrum like nobody's business.  Wailing and flailing like the world is coming to an end.  But as she grew closer to three, she grew closer to the ability to reason.  When you explain the whys to her and tell her how she should be acting, she understands.  She doesn't always like it, and doesn't always do it, but she understands.  And for the zany, middle child, who is always going a mile a minute, she will surprise you with how much she knows, how much she understands.

She knows her letters and numbers to count and by sight.  And big numbers--she will hold up her Urlacher jersey and say, "I'm fifty-four, Mommy."  She will dance around and tell you she has a pelvis, and a patella, and a cranium, and point to them in turn.  She's learning about the body with our leap books, and will wiggle her fingers and tell you they are phalanges.  And, it typical toddler (silly) fashion, she describes what she learned about the digestive system...the food goes in my mouth to my BOOTY!

She's pretty much potty trained, because the reward of playing on Mommy's tablet is incentive enough to get it done. 

Adventurous in every way--from her love of broccoli, "ninos"  (tomatoes) and every fruit and veggie imaginable--to leaping in the pool, jumping on the bed, and never letting discretion be the better part of valor.

If she wakes up in the middle of the night, she ends up in my bed.  But unlike her big sister, who is happy with her own pillow and her own space, Tori insists on sharing my pillow, on snuggling so closely to me that I can feel her breathe on me.  As she starts to fall back to sleep, her arm always reaches around me as she snuggles up tight. 

Everything Tori does, she does intensely.

And her little brother adores her.

We all do. 

 For years, I've been close to an old Italian man--he's in many ways like a great grandfather to me. I bring the girls to see him every few weeks.  His name for Tori is "estrella", for star.

How fitting.  Our Tori is a star, a shooting star, bright and blazing, grabbing our attention and filling our lives with light.

And she's been doing it for three years.

Three years.

Love you, Tori.

 

Silly monkey.

Tori got ahold of a fun hat tonight, and pranced around the house in it all night, even during dinner.

 

 She was quite the ham.

 She was so happy she indulged me in a photo shoot, something she usually runs from!

 This one's at the dinner table.

 She is our little ray of sunshine.

Our little Tori-nado.