Robbie has been counting down to his birthday for the past month.  Every morning, he wakes up and asks if he’s four yet.  Finally, we got the calendar and circled the 28th in bright green and started crossing out the days.  And now it’s almost here.  When getting dressed this morning, Robbie grabbed his “I am 3” shirt to wear one last time.  As he fell asleep, I held him a little bit longer, since I’ll never hold him as a three-year-old again.  Two was tough – brutal even – for so many reasons.  Three, however, has been incredible – for the most part.

• Robbie started pre-school.  Sure, it started out rough, getting called in for a parent conference after four days.  But he has learned so, so much.
• He had his first “real” Halloween.  We musth have celebrated all month, planning pumpkins and costumes and candy.  We moved into our new house two weeks before and spent the time decorating for Halloween and getting ready. Robbie trick-or-treated with friends.
• For the first time ever, Robbie woke up in his own house for Christmas morning.  He got to see what Santa brought him under his own tree, and Justin and I got to get everything ready for him.  What’s more, we didn’t have to face a 16-21 hour drive in winter weather.
• Robbie learned to write letters and spell his own name.
• He started doing things for himself.  Using the bathroom, brushing his teeth, getting dressed, fixing his own glass of water, grabbing a snack.  All the things that make my life so much easier.  But kind of break my heart because he doesn’t need me to do them for him anymore.
• We started swim lessons.  I have never been so nervous in my life; we signed Robbie up for advanced beginner even though he had never had a lesson in his life because there were no beginner openings.  We started a week late, and Robbie simply clung to his instructor.  But, three weeks later, he was swimming the better part of 20 feet to the rope by himself.  Under water.  I don’t know that I’ve ever known pride quite like watching Robbie figure out how to swim.
• Robbie decided that he wanted to start sleeping without a shirt on.  I’m not quite sure where this came from, but he announced the change to me last night.  When it was time for bed, he came in only wearing his pajama pants.  Robbie looked at me and said, “Mom, I’m going to sleep with my private parts showing tonight.”  I must have looked concerned because he immediately pointed to his chest, saying, “I mean these guys right here!”

I look at him and there is no remnant of baby left anywhere.  All I see is a little boy desperate to be a big kid but still sweet enough to give me hugs and kisses and make bead bracelets for me.  I wasn’t sure I would like Robbie so much once he wasn’t a baby anymore.  In all honesty, I’ve always been a baby person; pre-schoolers were just not really my thing.  Thank goodness I was wrong.  I can’t imagine anything better.

It all started a few months ago, when I sensed Robbie was getting a case of the “gimmees”.  (Have you read the Berenstein Bears Get the Gimmees?  You should!).  A commercial came on for a new Mickey Mouse movie, and Robbie jumped up and down, pointing at the screen, crying, “I wanna get that movie, Mom!  Can I get it?  Please?  Please?”

I was so put off by the sound of his voice, that I almost immediately snapped that he absolutely couldn’t have it if he behaved like that.  However, I knew that would only result in a meltdown and more trouble than the video was worth.  I also didn’t want to wind up breaking down and giving Robbie the movie on a whim or out of guilt.  So, I devised a plan.

“Sure,” I replied.  “But you have to earn it.”

All of a sudden, I had Robbie’s attention.  And I wasn’t at all sure what to do.  We had tried writing check marks on his hand when he did good things, but I also wanted to be able to take them away when he wasn’t behaving.  That’s where the unused-except-for-Robbie-to-scribble-on dry erase board came in.  It was perfect for a chart.  But what to put in it?  X’s seemed negative and checkmarks aren’t very exciting.  Stars.  Even at thirty-three, I still want my gold stars.

Robbie and I agreed that twenty stars sounded like a fair number, and, just like that, we were off.  Robbie had exactly one week before the movie was released.  I wanted to make sure he was able to earn it the day it hit stores to get quick positive reinforcement for his behavior.  He got stars for things like sleeping in his bed all night, having a good day at school, helping with chores around the house.  He lost them for not following directions, having time-outs at school – typical losing-a-star behavior.  Miraculously, he was able to earn 20 stars in ten days.  Almost as miraculously, Target actually had the video on shelves.

Did Robbie love the video?  Not really.  He’s watched it a few times.  Did he love the stars?  Absolutely.  They have changed our lives.  In the past three months, Robbie has earned trips to Monkey Joe’s, Gattitown, and the movies.  He has also earned three fish and souvenirs from Disney World and Myrtle Beach.  And now he gets stars for things we are working on, like ordering food with polite manners and jumping into the pool without holding on to my hands.  In fact, the promise of a star was the only thing that got him to even try swim lessons (afterward he told me that swim lessons were “awesome, dude!”).

We’ve also noticed that Robbie loses stars much less often than he used to, and we’ve talked to him about it.  Robbie told me that he likes it better when he’s good and earning stars.  So do I.  In fact, on occasion, we’ve even substituted stars for an immediate reward.  At Target one day, Robbie picked up a piece of candy and said, “May I please have this?  I’ve been really good.” (Yes, he says may instead of can.  I couldn’t be more proud!).  I thought about it and replied that he could have the candy now or a star when we got home.  Much to my surprise, he picked the star.

The star plan has worked beautifully for behavior (most of the time) and has had an added benefit.  Robbie doesn’t ask me to get him anything anymore.  Today, after he went to see Turbo for earning 20 stars, Robbie asked if he could please earn stars for soccer equipment, something I had planned to buy anyway.  But, who am I to crush his dreams?

Rob Manna asks more questions than anyone I have ever met in my life.  It came as no surprise, then, when we saw a picture on Facebook yesterday claiming that the average four-year-old asks 437 questions a day.  All of a sudden, I didn’t feel so alone in my constant answering of seemingly inane questions.

“Mom, are there sharks in the pool?”

“Mom, why can’t my baby be born yet?”

“Mom, am I four yet?”

“Mom, what is Barkley doing?”

“Mom, what is my dad doing?”

You see where we’re going here…  And those are just his questions in the first 90 seconds after waking up.  Listening to Robbie, I suddenly understand how Justin feels when I attack him with my morning-person-ness every morning (although, in all fairness, I do wait until I’ve been up for at least an hour before I even attempt to talk to my wonderful husband).  So, armed with this bit of trivia about how many questions kids ask a day, I approached Robbie.

“Rob.  You really ask a lot of questions.  Did you know that?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Any idea why?”

“There’s just a lot I want to know,” he replied, climbing up on the couch to curl up with me.  “Like, why is waiting so hard?”

That caught me a little off-guard.  I hadn’t expected him to hit me with something so profound, but he has been doing a lot of waiting lately – waiting for his birthday, waiting to get the fish he earned for good behavior, and waiting for his little brother to come.

“Well,” I started, “Waiting is really hard sometimes because there are things we really want.  And when we really want something, we feel like it should happen right now.”

“Yeah.  Like my birthday.  Can it be my birthday today?  Please?” he begged, before giving me a kiss and sliding off the couch, in search of some better adventure.

As you might expect, there were about 396 additional questions throughout the day.  As we were pulling into the Kroger parking lot to pick up dinner for tonight, Robbie asked me about the construction that was going on, curious about why it wasn’t finished.  I must have sighed while trying to formulate an answer.  All of a sudden, I heard him say, “I’m asking a lot of questions again, aren’t I?  I just want to know things, Mom.  That’s all.”

And there it was, all put into perspective for me for the second time in eight hours.  Robbie only know what he can figure out if I’m not willing to answer his questions.  Sure, they may not all be important and many, many of them may be redundant.  It’s about more than that, though.  It’s about building an environment where questioning in encouraged, so Robbie knows how to get information when he needs it and that it’s always OK to want to know more.

Rob Manna has gotten very into giving compliments.  Of course, they’ve required a little work.  For example, he used to say, “Mom, I like your private parts,” simply because he was learning that certain parts of the body need to be, well, private, and it seemed like a nice thing to say to someone.  I’ve done a little coaching and a lot of laughing – when he wasn’t looking – over this.

I picked Robbie up at school the other day to discover he had been passing out compliments to his teachers.  Initially, my heart started to beat a little faster as I prepared for the worst.  However, it appears my coaching has been working, especially on Robbie’s communication with the ladies.  Within the first five minutes of being in class, Robbie had approached each of his teachers.  “Mrs. Hoagland, I like your bracelet.”  “Ms Katie, I like your earrings.”  “Mrs. Bardon, I like your necklace.”

He continued his compliments at Kroger, complimenting two employees on their store-issued shirts and again at the movies, complimenting the lady parked next to us on her car.  It’s an interesting thing to watch – their reactions and Robbie’s compliment planning.  People are a little taken aback, perhaps not used to hearing a compliment from a three-year-old; I know that, even as his mother, it still catches me off-guard sometimes.  But the most interesting part is that Robbie really puts a lot of thought into what he says to someone, checking with me before he approaches someone he doesn’t know with a compliment.

Justin asked me the other day if Robbie was using compliments to try to get what he wants.  That may be part of it; after all, isn’t there always a little of that?  But  I truly believe that he really just wants to make people feel good and that giving compliments and seeing people smile in response makes him feel good.  And that’s a lesson I can live with.

Justin, Robbie, and I were dying to find out what we were having.  There was a constant back-and-forth in our house about boys and girls, each one ending with Robbie in near tears about the mere possibility of having a sister.  So, when the midwife told me we could find out via blood test (I know – can you believe it?!), we hopped on it.  Except I didn’t want to find out that way.  Having a nurse call on the phone, Justin maybe out of town.  It just seemed really cold.  We opted to try to find out very  early via ultrasound.  Last Wednesday, scoring a last-minute appointment at Lexington Fetal Photography (terrible name, isn’t it?), we headed out to hopefully solve the mystery.

Thankfully, this baby is just like his brother – very cooperative and not at all bashful.  Within seconds, there he was, in all his glory.  Robbie jumped up and down and gave a very heartfelt, “Yesss!” at the news.  Justin clapped enthusiastically, proud of himself for siring another male heir.  And I was a little relieved to have my status as sole female.  This was it.  We knew what our family would be.  I would always have “my boys”.

But, as excited and thrilled as we are to have another boy, we were a little sad, too.  We only want two children, so this was it.  We will probably never have a little girl.  I will never by dresses or hair bows for my little girl.  The girl outfit I bought “just in case” from another mom who has all boys will have to be passed on.  There will be no waiting in line to meet princesses or dressing up for a tea party.  Even now, it’s a little sad because I wonder what a little girl would have been like.

But then I think of what I won’t miss out on.  No battles over whether clothing is too revealing.  No wedding to pay for.  No middle school girl drama.  No conversations about why make-up isn’t appropriate at age nine.  No boys coming to my house to take my daughter out.

And all that I will have with another boy…  Sweet hugs and kisses from someone who wants to marry me, even though I’m already taken.  Playing with cars and trains and monsters.  Skinned knees and visible scars that don’t really matter because boys are more awesome with battle wounds and good stories to back them up (like the one on Robbie’s forehead from where he put a Matchbox car through it two years ago).  Adventures on pirate ships.  Dirt under the fingernails from digging for treasure.  And to get to experience that twice?  I just don’t think I could give it up.

Everything is a race with Rob Manna.  Going to the kitchen?   Getting to the car?  Walking to the bathroom?  Someone has to win.  And usually it’s Robbie.  This morning, Justin and I were both leaving at the same time and planning to stop at The Daily Grind, him for coffee and me for a smoothie (coffee just doesn’t taste good anymore, which is a little devastating).  I told Robbie to tell Justin we were going to race him there.  I stopped in the kitchen to get my keys and wallet while Robbie delivered the challenge and then planned to meet him in the garage.

I got outside just in time to see Robbie disappear down the driveway.  On his scooter.  When I asked him what he was doing, Robbie paused long enough to turn, look at me, and say, “I’m racing you to the coffee shop”, before he took off again.  The kid thought we were all racing each other.  And he was serious about beating us all there – never mind that The Daily Grind is a mile away and would require crossing three major intersections.

He wasn’t sure about going all alone, though.  This pregnancy has exhausted me, and I wasn’t about to try to chase down my child on foot.  So, I hopped in the car to get him and the poor child came flying back, thinking I had left him.  He rushed into the car, afraid that Justin would realize we had already left and actually beat us there.  I’m not sure whether Robbie taking every competition so seriously is a good thing or not.  But, if it gets him dressed and out the door without tears or yelling on anyone’s part, I’m not sure it’s a bad way to go.

The other day, on our way to school, Robbie told me that some of his friends scratched each other.  From the front seat, I said, “But you don’t scratch anymore, do you?”  I received a very emphatic, “Noooo.  And I don’t punch no more either.”  I told him I was very glad to hear that but asked why he decided to stop.  His answer stopped me in my tracks.

“I’m not angry anymore, Mom.  I was really angry and sad when we moved to ‘Tucky.  And I was nervous about my new school.”

Are you kidding me?  Really?  He’s figured all of this out, and I had no idea?  Justin and I thought he had handled the move really well.  After all, how traumatic could the move have really been for him?  He was moving to a place where he knew people and living in a house he was familiar with for three months.  We’d talked about it for months before the move happened.  But hearing it in his words, it all made sense.  And, eleven months ago, he didn’t have words to describe being angry or nervous.

I would have been angry and sad and nervous, too.  In the course of a month, he left the only home he had known, went into a bizarre living situation with four adults living in the house instead of just two, and started a new school where there were more than three kids and he wasn’t the center of attention.  It wouldn’t have mattered how well-prepared I was; it still would have been brutal.  And throw in the stress and tension Justin and I were feeling about the horrendous sale of our house…  No wonder he was lashing out.

Of course, the afternoon after this conversation, I picked Robbie up only to learn that he had actually scratched another student late in the day…

Justin and I have known since Easter morning that Robbie was going to be a big brother, and we planned to tell him in late May when I was into my second trimester.  Unfortunately, Justin and I cannot keep a secret.  The fact that we kept this one for four weeks was, well, something of a miracle.  On the 24th of April, Justin lost his self-control, and, over dinner, told Robbie that he was going to be a big brother.  Robbie took the news better that we expected, but there were a few points of clarification we’ve made over the past few weeks while we waited to break the news to the rest of the world.

1.  We are not having a baby, a brother, and a sister.  We are just having a baby.  It will be either a brother or a sister.  There are not three new beings coming into our lives (we checked the ultra sound just in case!).

2.  Robbie firmly believes that I ate something to get the baby in my belly.  He opens my mouth to check on the baby daily and assures me that everything is going well.  He also believes he has confirmed that he is indeed having a baby brother.

3.  There was a brief concern that I would poop the baby out (by Robbie, not Justin).  This led to a conversation that may have actually complicated things and led to Robbie’s realization that I really am different from him and Justin.

4.  Robbie is able to channel what the baby wants to eat.  Several weeks ago, he was very concerned that the baby get its vitamins and eat a banana.  The next night, he brought me an apple.  Friday morning, he discovered that I had not eaten the apple.  He made me stop getting ready for work and insisted that I eat the apple for his baby.

5.  This is not our baby.  It is Robbie’s.  He will feed it bottles and change all the diapers.  He also knows that babies need hugs and kisses.  And he will buy the baby a crib and get good toys.  But, it is his baby.  Please do not be mistaken about this.

6.  Robbie wants to see his baby, and he doesn’t want to wait until November.  He has tried, on more than one occasion, to put his foot in my mouth in an effort to get into my belly to play with his baby.

7.  Big Brother shirts are hard to find.  And one becomes a big brother as soon as he learns that there will be a baby, so it’s best to try to have more than one on hand, especially if said big brother wants to sleep in and wear the shirt every day.

8.  Santa will be bringing the baby to Robbie.  And God.  This is a relief, as I will be able to avoid child birth.

9.  Robbie has already started blaming his baby for things that go wrong.  When he pooped in his diaper recently, Robbie informed me that he hadn’t done it; it had, in fact, been his baby.  To clarify, I asked, “Let me get this straight.  The baby left my belly, jumped into your diaper, pooped, and then magically got back into my belly?”  He didn’t miss a beat.  “Yes.  That’s what happened.”  Great…

10.  It has occurred to Robbie that all the chairs at our table will be filled.  He used the opportunity to switch to a different seat, letting me know that the other one would be for the baby.  It is, of course, in the most inconvenient spot in the kitchen.

I don’t think I was very good at being a kid.  Once I learned to be self-conscious, I excelled at it and I always wanted to be a little older than I was.  I was more comfortable talking to a babysitter than kids my own age.  I never danced with abandon or was really excited to have my face painted or have a balloon animal.  I just wanted to blend in.

To some extent, I am still very much that way.  In most situations, all I want to do is blend and I abhor doing new things – especially by myself.  I am, much to some people’s surprise, a near textbook introvert at heart.  I would rather stay home and read a book than go out with friends.  College never found me in bars and rarely in large parties where I didn’t know most of the people there.  Before Robbie was born, I relished the hour or so of pure quiet I had after work before Justin got home, especially because, as a teacher, I don’t have the option to be an introvert.  I pretend all day and then need time to recharge.

Robbie is, much to my delight and exhaustion, nothing like that.  He is every bit an extrovert and he soaks in every aspect of being a kid without the fear of judgement I had.  Take today, for instance…

For the past week, Robbie has been begging me to get his face painted.  We went to Sunrise Trackside at Keeneland last weekend, and the face painting line closed before we could get there.  Someone at work sent out an email about an open house with, you guessed it, face painting.  We had to be there.

After Chinese school, Robbie and I headed to the open house.  He ran to get into line to get his face painted and was immediately distracted by a clown making balloon animals.  When the clown asked Robbie what he wanted, Robbie replied, “A rocket ship!” with more enthusiasm than I would have about finding out someone was going to do my laundry for the next year.   Unfortunately, a rocket wasn’t an option; however, a rocket hat was.  As he stood there watching his hat being built, the smile grew larger and larger.  And then he did what I never would have done as a kid – he wore it.  For nearly an hour.

After the rocket hat, Robbie got back in line to have his face painted.  As soon as it was his turn, the face painter asked Robbie what he wanted on his face.  He replied, without hesitation, “I want you to make me a blue shark, please.”  I had no idea such a thing existed – and I’m not sure the face painter did either.  She asked if he wanted her to draw a shark on his cheek, and he confidently replied, “No.  Please make me a blue shark with sharp teeth.”  And so she did.  He proudly displayed his shark face until it was wiped off shortly before bed – including the four hours that he spent at church with all the big kids at parents’ night out.

Robbie dances like no one is watching.  He plays games even when he’s not sure all of the rules – take the dunking booth this afternoon for example.  He had no idea how it worked, but he had a blast throwing baseballs and even connected twice (just not hard enough to dunk the freezing person stuck on the platform).  He climbs tall, inflatable slides with the big kids.  Robbie has fun, and he doesn’t care if he sticks out or if anyone notices at all.  So, even though I didn’t do all of these things as a child (and still don’t as an adult), I love watching Robbie do it.  It fulfills something that’s been missing in me, and I’m grateful I have someone to show me that it doesn’t matter what other people think as long as you’re having fun.

It seems like there is a new tragedy everywhere we turn.  School shootings.  Marathon bombings.  Massive plant explosions.  Whole cities under lockdown.  There is virtually no escape from it, with 24-hour news access, Twitter, and Facebook.  We see things we shouldn’t – gruesome images from the Boston finish line and the dead body of a bomber on a cold metal table.  And we can’t help asking ourselves what the purpose of it all is.  I’ve known more than one parent to ask, “What was I thinking, having children when I knew the world was like this?”  I’ve wondered the same thing myself.

I may not have a perfect answer, but I have the one that helps me sleep at night.  I brought a child into this world because I am confident that there is good, and my child will be a part of it.  So many of us are scared of where the world is going – and, if we think about it, where the world has been – that it is impossible to not be a little afraid of the future.  But when I look in my child’s eyes, I am not afraid of what the world has in store for him.  I know that the world will be a better place because he has been a part of it.

Sure, maybe not on the days when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, gets sent home for scratching someone too hard at pre-school, and throws his dinner across the kitchen instead of eating it.  But most days?  Absolutely.  He is three-and-a-half-years-old, and every day Robbie makes my world a better place.  His frantic racing to give his dad a hug and kiss when we leave in the morning.  The patient way he talks to a scared animal.  The powerful way that he assures me that I am his best friend – unless Daddy is around.  My world is a better place because he stops to pick up and throw away trash, because he says please and thank you in public, and because he remembers when his Aunt Hilary is sick – and asks if she is feeling better yet until she actually is.  He is making good on his daily promise to me that he will be a helper.

If he can reach the people that he knows, making their worlds better, I can only imagine the power he – and all of our children – will have when they are older and have larger circles to influence.  They will not always make the right choices, but, at the end of the day, our children are good people who will grow up to be even better people.  Perhaps our children will bring the end of disease and senseless violence; perhaps they are the change we have been waiting for.  And that, my friends, is something worth celebrating.