Clover Lane

Last weekend Andrew made his First Communion.  This is a big deal for me...I love First Communion. Here he is in his finery...I let him pick his tie out (not as fun as the girls are with the dresses and flowers and hair and all but I try!).








We also celebrated Matthew's 13th birthday. (And smart girl that I am I combined those two parties into one compressed one, without ever looking at ideas on Pinterest but keeping everything really really simple knowing that for me right now, that is the best way to go.  Actually for me, forever, that is the best way to go.)

So I officially have THREE teenagers living in my house.  I can do this right?  RIGHT???




On to the next event...Isaac is graduating in a matter of weeks!  Wowzerrs!

That's how Patrick says football.  With some sort of sophisticated foreign accent.

And here's my son, Matthew, that you never knew existed because he hates getting his picture taken in a bad way.
Just like me.

But I got this one while he was famished, right before practice.

Dear Matthew-
You know you are the 'good baby'.

(Yes, I have labeled all my babies...I think I have admitted this before.)

But you were awful that first day in the hospital.  I was scared...scared about my ability to handle three children.  I called my mom home from a distant work venue, crying.  "I know I said I didn't need help but I changed my mind!"   I remember I was down a hall at the very end by myself.  The hospital was understaffed.  I had to ask for diapers several time.  I walked up and down those halls about 12 hours after giving birth, because you were so unsettled.  No one checked on me.  I think they forgot we were down there?  It actually would have nice if it hadn't been so extreme.  By the time I left (couldn't be fast enough) and my mom was at my home, you had morphed into 'good' baby.  You made me look like a fool...I didn't mind.


Here's why you were good:
You never cried except that first night.  Really, NEVER.

When you were born, we had just moved into our Second Street house.  Major pit.  You would watch me paint for HOURS in your Exercauser.   You'd spin occassionaly, you'd eat Cheerios sometimes, but you'd mostly just watch.  Contentedly.  I redid that entire house with you watching.  Thank you for that.


You had double, triple doses of "good baby scent".  It's weird but it's true.  You just smelled SO strongly like a baby and I loved it.

Some other things about you:
1. You once almost ate a worm.  It was going from little fingers straight to mouth when I screamed and you dropped it.  I have a feeling there were some other times I might not have caught?  You once pooped out a small one-dot Lego in your diaper.  Part of being #3.


2. You were a master escape artist.  You learned to take a broom stick and pop my hook and eye locks I had on every door.  (Paybacks for the easy-baby stage...for sure.)


3. You have always been very confident in your decisions.  Once, after preschool was finished, you told me you weren't going to Pre-K the next year.  I believed you.  I didn't sign you up, because I knew there was no making you and what for?  Halfway through the year I broached the topic again.  You said, "OK."  And you went, and liked it.  It's refreshing trait, this self-awareness.


4. Your teacher's always tell me that you are an asset to their class...they couldn't ask for a better leader.  I have to admit the first time I heard this I was surprised...you are the third in line here...and I've often seen your quiet personality overpowered by your two older siblings.  But no, I was assured, a leader and a great example to all.  I am so proud of you.  I know you are kind and so smart and have really good friends.


5. When I ask you what you want to be you say an artist or an architect.  I believe you.  Your immense Lego-building skill is second to none.  In your free time you write and draw and read and go outside and explore nature.  I picture you one day with an enormous garden. 


I love you.  We ALL do.  Thank you so much for being who you are.