Up all night...

I've been a terrible blogger. More accurately, I haven't kept a consistent record of my wee ones growing up. That's why I began all of this...to have a record of what they say and who they are. I've been up nights lately, having what might be described as panic attacks about how quickly their childhoods are whistling by...I reach out to grabs moment, and they're already gone. Truly, "the days are long and the years are short." I resolve, tonight, to do better. And perhaps, in the writing, I can recall some of what I missed and being it forth. The camera we accidentally tossed in the trash two years ago, along with two years of photos, is never coming back. But I pray I can resurrect the memories. Reading over the sparseness of our blog tonight I was achingly grateful for the bits I have recorded.
Briar is 10 this year, and adolescence, along with a hint of attitude, is blooming. She craves her independence, but still loves to be cuddled and spend time with just me or Ryan. She is thrilled with her increased freedom this year and last, which began with our move last September to a tiny town. She is allowed to go sola to the library, pick up small quantities of groceries, shop at the craft store, ride her bike, transport herself to a friend's house, etc. She wants to spend more and more time with friends, but she still plays elaborate make-believe sagas with her brothers all over the house and out in the yard. Ryan started putting together the colossal play structure we bought 4 years ago to put on the acreage we decided to sell, and so far the decks with the small playhouse areas are up and usable. The children now have a clubhouse, which last night was the medieval castle from which they spotted dragons and other mythical creatures.
Jacob is fiercely himself. I have to give him space and try to figure out how to discipline and guide without trampling on that...difficult for someone who doesn't deal well with loss of control. He is in a mind-frame of questioning, and complaining about, most things. I have to carefully sift through what to stand my ground on and what to let go, lest our battles become epic, and we both lose, because the love is absent. He is smart, articulate, and stubborn. Sometimes I keep him home when he's just a little sick because we get on so much better when it's just the two of us. He wins because he's not in school and has my undivided attention, along with some coveted electronic time. I win because the sweetness returns and he is my happy boy again, free to tell me his thoughts and ask his never ending questions.This happens every few months, and I don't worry about the school he misses because he is always ahead of the game. We need these little breaks, Jacob and I.
Charlie is warming to the idea of school, bit by bit. Two years ago, while in an incredible kindergarten (more about that later), he routinely sobbed about having to leave home, me, and Henry, grow up, and go to school. It made my heart seize up with both sorrow and tenderness when starting at the age of 3, he would sadly cry into my clothing about not wanting to grow up. In kindergarten, he had friends, and loved his teachers, but he didn't want to be there with the structure and the demands. Charlie is bright and observant, but on his terms, and regarding only what he is interested in. If something doesn't strike his fancy, he will play the clown and turn his ears and his brain off. He loathes most fine motor activities, and has been known to hide his school agenda, telling his teacher he lost it, just so he doesn't have to write down the notes of the day. Right before we left the kids with my parents for a two-week trip, he disappeared from his classroom for a while, his teacher noticing when another staff member knocked on the classroom door and asked whether or not she knew Charles was out in the hall. After recess they were to be doing writing exercises, and so he hid on the playground, and then roamed the halls. Our first year here was difficult for him; he had to make new friends, and this is a right-knit community where most children have known each other since long before 1st grade. He also recognized that he wasn't part of the "cool boys" as he dubbed them. I don't even remember that cropping up in my school years until about 4th grade, but he sensed it at 6. We considered holding him back to repeat kindergarten since many of the children in his class are nearly a year older, and he was so frustrated with writing, colouring, cutting, etc. the teachers advised us against it, given that although younger, he towers over most of them, and his size, coupled with his pronounced speech impediment, would only be more noticeable if held back. He's making friends, and even occasionally expresses a desire to go to school, so there is progress.
Henry is a doll. He is animated in most things when comfortable, and while all of the kids love our dance parties, he really dances with abandon. The latest is "this is my elephant dance number 9", or "fairy dance number 6". He is friendly, enthusiastic, cuddly, and sometimes petulant. Lately, he has taken to hitting his siblings when frustrated, and last week, when I refused him a cookie because he hadn't even attempted to eat his lunch, he gave me a daring, frustrated little punch, watching my face carefully to gauge my reaction. This is his second year of preschool. He began last year at three in order to get a head start on some brewing speech issues, and he thrived in the social atmosphere there. He attended a preschool in Lethbridge because at the time of registration we were not planning on moving, and the commute was short. Move we did, and I spent a great deal of time driving him the 1/2 hour each way back and forth to school. That isn't much in urban areas, but here in the country it is, considering I have a school less than a kilometre from my house. This year he's local. He was nervous about the new atmosphere and lamented "I'm really gonna miss my old school, and all of the kids...Backinley (McKinley, who incidentally, has parents named Cupcake and Bob, according to Hen), Abigail, Eli, and my teachers...except Mrs. Strong." This surprised me, as I thought he and Mrs. S got on quite well. "Why won't you miss her, Hen?" "No, I WILL miss her, I'll miss her the mostest." He meant especially instead of except, and we have had this same syntax discussion a few times since that conversation. Today, while eating lunch with "sick" Jacob, he was waxing poetic about the mutual love he shares with all of his preschool friends. He is "in love" with all of them, and they with him. Jacob want buying this picture of perfection and queried "yeah, but who do you *hate*, Henry?" I didn't love this line of questioning, since it seems to conclude that Henry must have     someone he doesn't like, but I let it play out. So hen, after much prodding, gives a name, calling said child his "worst enemy". I wanted to know the reason for such strong language, and asked him why. "Because she eats her BOOgers." (That's how he pronounces it). Jacob was surprised, and responded "But Henry, so do you...and so do I." Uhhh, gross. And, let's stop that.