Independence Day

Deep down inside, a part of me has been avoiding this post.  I have so enjoyed writing this blog for my children to read some day... for me to read some day and recall the blissful and hectic moments of our lives when I had three tiny, tiny human beings with such big personalities.

But alas... they are not tiny little beings anymore. They are small bundles of brains, bright eyes, dimples and jokes... and energy galore.  And so when Adam's 8th birthday came around, and I scrambled to find time to take photos and write a glowing tribute to this lovely little boy who has such an amazing heart and imagination, I told myself I would pick it up when the twins' 6th birthday came by just one short month later.

In a moment I found myself engaging with the friends we had made over the last several years, completely forgetting my camera when they sat next to each other at the little picnic table at the apartment pool, blowing out cupcakes decorated with turtles, kittens, and unicorns as so many surrounded us.  I scrambled to pull my phone out of my pocket and snapped two quick shots, the only documented evidence that my two babies did, in fact, turn 6 this summer.

The reason I have avoided this post with such fervor is that I fear it is the end of our digital "baby book."  I'm finally acknowledging the end of a phase of life that I so loved... a phase of life when I chased babies, changed diapers, and cuddled endlessly with such guilty pleasure. Now, Shannon and I are divorced, living in two separate houses just 8 minutes away and co-parenting the best we can, which is pretty darn well, in my opinion.  Now, Adam is about to start 3rd grade. The twins are about to start 1st grade.  They are officially no longer babies.

So this post signifies a change in the way I document their lives... our lives. I have for so long gone details into elements of our lives that many would never share, but they were (are) real.  I am no longer a Ham, but we are still a family. I am no longer a mother with a camera glued to her face, wiping away happy tears as she watches her babies learn to smile, walk, talk, read, and ride their bikes. (No more training wheels!)

I didn't miss these things, and I of course took pictures, but they never made it into this blog with the level of attention and chronological perfection that I had become so accustomed to, and that physically aggravated my OCD.   So I had to let some things go before my sanity did.

In the last two years, we sold our home, built a happy life with two different homes and with happy children who are sometimes a little spoiled to make up for the difficult things we made them do, and started a couple new schools. We are settled now, even though I'm destined for another move in the next month or so... hopefully one a little more permanent.

I've written a novel and then hidden it away until I could look at it with the careful eye of someone much wiser who can face the mistakes in writing and in life. I've lost old friends due to differences and anger, and I've gained new ones because I kept going even when sometimes that felt like an impossible feat. I am traveling, learning to love more forgivingly, and I am creating a website, just for fun.  Mostly, I'm soaking up every single moment I get with my children, because they complete me as a person.

This post begins a new era of this family blog, and I found it impossible to avoid the topic any longer after last week's July 4th.  It was one of the best days I'd had in a very long time, and one of the best birthdays.

Shannon bought a boat last summer, and though it seems to be a pain in the butt for him a lot of the time, it's brought the kids and I a lot of joy when it was much needed.  He took us out on the lake on Independence Day so we could swim, grill hot dogs, and watch the fireworks on the water.  We don't get home until late, but it's the perfect way to watch fireworks with our three SPD kids... we are far enough from the booms, get a clear view of the fire in the sky, and the water calms them.

As I edited these pictures, I was revived by their smiles... sometimes it feels like most of the day consists of asking (begging) children to stop picking fights with each other, or asking 60 times in a row for someone to find and put on their shoes before they get into the car. But whenever I go back and flip through all the pictures, I catch so much more laughter than I ever realize in the moment.

And since I didn't get to it in May, or in June, and it's now well into July, I write to my children so that some day they can read back on how phenomenal they are in their own unique ways.  If I vow to do it on another day, I will blink and suddenly it will be 2028.

Colin

Dear Colin,

This last year was one long, difficult battle for you. Between adjusting to Kindergarten, trying to figure out where you stand and who you are, and fighting to stay with the class in reading (while doing fantastically in math), you grew so much this year.  You have such a clever mind and vocabulary, and your love of the color green, turtles, and Minecraft makes you so original and entertaining.  I love how easily you jump into character with Adam and Claire when you do mom-car improv.  My favorite bit is when you're the burly American man trying to explain to Adam, the confused Italian, how to make pizza.

You love to be with older kids and you cherish your alone time and your space, but you are also a ball of energy with a sensitive heart and a mind for pretend.  You have begged me, in the last few weeks, to officially change your name to "Wizard Turtle" Ham, and you say it with such genuine need to be called this that I almost feel tempted to make a quick trip out to sign the paperwork and make it official.

You love to talk, but never to strangers, and ever since you were a baby you would just give people a "look" when they try to speak to you. It's a "I don't know you and I'm not interested," sort of look, that always makes people laugh because it's so beyond your years. You aren't shy, you're just not amused.

You have such determination that I know you will succeed at anything you try. When I pulled off your training wheels and taught you to ride your bike, you struggled, but as the sun set lower and your knees got red from the falls, you would alternate between yelling your frustration at your bike and at yourself, then turning on me and refusing to give up when I suggested we rest and try another day. You knew you were going to ride that random Thursday night after school and tutoring, and nothing was going to stop you.

This year you would go to school for 8 hours, then after school care, then spend 2-6 hours extra per week at Sylvan busting your butt to stay on top of things.  I have never seen anyone work so hard, even adults... and though there was complaining, it was mostly because once the weather got nice Sylvan competed with your undying desire to ride your bike.  

You very gracefully got kicked out of summer camp after fighting so hard to stay in afterschool care, but only because of your need to flee the building when you don't feel like your needs are getting met or your concerns being addressed.  But blessings always come as disguises, and you are loving going to Sensory camp at It's a Sensory World.  It's such a pleasure to see you content, and I will never stop trying to make sure you get that.

You make me so proud that you are mine, Colin. I am constantly in awe of you.

Grandpa's favorite memory:
"my best memory  is the first Texas  railroad trip..two-ish...he hung out with me...comfortable...alert ...but not animated... I had a good time..I hope he remembers..."

Who let this mad-man drive?

Ready....

Adam
Dear Adam,

From day one you knew how to make my heart expand in ways that I never imagined possible.  Whenever you see a homeless person, you immediately start to tear up and beg for me to do something, anything for them.  You have no tolerance for bullies and every ability to stand up for yourself and for justice, and that just makes you such a rare gem in this world.

Your sense of humor is phenomenal, and your ability to speak "Italian" never fails to make me laugh. ("Mama mia! Would you like-a pepper-RONI a-pizza?")  You give the best hugs and are the most amazing older brother to Colin and Claire.  It's a shame that they will never fully realize how truly lucky they are to have you.  One Saturday morning, Claire came in early and woke me to ask if she could eat breakfast and watch TV. When I said, "of course," she went immediately to your room, woke you up, and asked you to turn on the television and make her breakfast.  And you just got up, just like that, so ready to help her no matter what the sacrifice to you.  My heart grew 4 sizes that day when I told you to stay in bed and you said, "No Mommy, it's okay. I don't mind."

I'm jealous of how well you know yourself already, and I'm so impressed that you don't try to change for other people.  You love golf and swimming, and you know you don't enjoy many team sports like basketball or soccer, and even though karate is very popular for kids your age and you are a natural at it, according to everyone, you stick to your preferences: Riding your bike, swimming, roller blading, golf, and theater.  You make me want to be a better person, and I wish I could spend all my time with you.

When you got your cat 4 years ago, you named her Joy, from the song you sang in Montessori school "I've got Joy like a Fountain."  I haven't yet told the vet that her middle name is "Like A Fountain." She freaking adores you and gets so excited when you are home.  It always makes me laugh that she brings you lizards (alive) because she knows how much you like lizards. Your pet brings you pets.  I love that your favorite animal is the Penguin, and that you named your (female) bearded dragon "Burto."

This last year at school you so enjoyed 2nd grade and your teacher was so good for you. You met your best friend, Sebastian, and it's just amazing how similar you two are in interests and in spirit.  You truly seemed happy and started to feel comfortable at your new school.  I have promised you this year that you won't have to change schools... I know it has been hard the last 3 years, being in 3 different schools, but you have always rolled with the punches and never complained.  You may have reminded me of your needs, but you are so mature for your age.

I love you Adam, so much.  I can wait to see the man you will grow into, but I know he's going to be the most spectacular human being on the planet.

Grandpa says: "You are a bright, inquisitive, energizer bunny."

I love the hair.

Claire
Dear Claire,

Yesterday, Colin told you that he thought he could beat you at anything.  Very cool, without a reaction, you turned to him... paused. Glowered your eyes and whispered:

"Do it. I dare you."

I got goosebumps, and that about sums up your personality completely.  You are so tough, so smart, so gorgeous and so brave.  I know that you will be a doctor some day because you don't mind a little blood and gore, but you are probably the worst patient.  I'm just glad you don't get sick much anymore, and when you do, you sort of just keep going because you hate to have anything hold you back.

You are an incredible athlete, to the point where if you aren't immediately excellent at something, you are furious.  I remember that fun time I took you bowling and you didn't immediately pick it up... your score was really high, but not to your standards, and you were so mad that it wasn't easier.  When I hid a smile, you yelled at me to go away and pouted for most of the evening.  Then, we went home and I taught you Wii bowling... and you're the house champion.

Don't get me wrong, I hate when you yell at me, but you're also very fierce and I'm proud of that, so I can't help but smile even though I know I'm just fueling the beast.

Your favorite dinner is Salmon, broccoli and rice, and you're famous at rockfish as the little girl who can eat an entire adult portion of the grilled salmon, with the veggies, and then immediately ask for ice cream for dessert. I'd take you there more, but I would go bankrupt.  You have a tell, when you're hungry, when that little attitude comes out.  Feed you, run you, swim you, and take you shopping... that's the key to a happy Claire.

You make friends so easily and people are naturally drawn to you. I love how strong and confident you are. If someone isn't very nice (because lots of little girls can be pretty mean), you just shrug and say, "I don't think so-and-so likes me very much."  If I ask if that makes you sad, you say, "No, it's okay. Lots of other people like me."  I really wish I had been more like that when I was little.  Hell, I wish I was more like you even as an adult.

When you learned to ride your bike without training wheels, you hopped on, rode without wobbling, turned at the end of the street like a pro, came back, hit the brakes, and jumped off. It was effortless, the way you make most things seem. Learning to read was a snap, and you're amazing at math too. I got so many good calls and notes from your teacher telling me how excellent and amazing you are.  I just beamed with pride all year as you excelled socially and academically.

I couldn't love anyone more than I love you, Claire. But more than that, I admire you and everything you are. I'm so lucky to have gotten you as a daughter.

Grandpa's favorite memory of you:
"One of the early stay-overs with Mamie & I....at about 5:30 am...a tiny little voice at bedside wanting to know if it was donut time yet....I mentioned not until daylight...she went away until daylight & then came back, and then, very politely let me know that the sun was up...it still makes me smile..."

As I begin my 38th year on this planet, I'm realizing how fortunate I am.  The last few years were very rough, but when I look around and the dust settles into the crevices of our life, I see how much joy we have together.  I am blessed, and I am filled with love.

At the heart of it, Independence Day was the perfect way to celebrate the next steps in our family's path. Not Independence from each other, nor Independence from babies in diapers, but Independence from the suffocating worry that we were not making the best choices for our family and for ourselves.  Independence from the pressure to have perfection and a day to embrace the complicated way we all love and live with each other.  I say good-bye to the last phase -- the infancy phase -- and welcome the next moments of our lives with open arms and a happy heart.

A note from Grandpa:
"You are you...no one else is like you and you don't have to be like any one else.

You are unconditionally cherished and loved...You don't have to "prove" yourself to family or yourself...

Whatever you believe...or say....say it...

 and believe it ...with confidence!!   Others expect & respect your personal belief in yourself..."