Dear Harrison,

You are tired.  You play harder than most kids I know, you go to school where learning new things requires an intensity of concentration that takes enormous amounts of energy to maintain, and your body and mind are growing up fast; all of these things together wear you out to the point that you are on the verge of tears nearly every day by the hour of five o'clock.  By the end of each day you have the tendency to become a puddle, to push boundaries and the limits of our patience until we, too, feel like puddles.  At those moments, the moments in which I want to throw up my hands and call uncle as I make a mad dash for the door, I find myself hoping that you will have a son of your own one day.  And you might think that is a hateful thing to write, but I don't wish a son upon you in vengeance, rather I wish a son upon you so that you, too, will know the depths of love that I know, the love that keeps me from running out the door.  The love that makes me hug you and hold you close rather than keeping you in a constant time out.  The love that makes me secretly giggle when you try, yet again, some thing that I have told you not to do no fewer than a million times. 
We've been doing better this week, you and I.  I had long since given up all hope of naps for you because as you got older you just seemed to grow out of them and I grew weary of returning you to your bed twenty times an afternoon.  It was exhausting and I will admit defeat; I simply gave up.  But then a funny thing happened.  I snuggled you close on the couch earlier this week, tucked a blanket around your shoulders to ward off any chill, and thought to myself that in the absence of a nap we could at least enjoy a quiet time together.  I turned on some boring show about politics and you laid your head on my arm until, quite suddenly and soundlessly, you were asleep.  Your little body sagged in relief as your slumber replenished the depleted stores of energy in your cells.  Your face relaxed, you started to snore, and I realized that in all of the time we spent arguing about naps I was getting it wrong.  Instead of putting you away in your room, alone, to sleep off your naughtiness and bad moods, I should have held you close for just a little while because what you needed, more than sleep, was me.  You needed to know that, in spite of all of the changes in your little life these days, I am going to remain a constant.  I failed you, in a way, when I didn't recognize what you needed and I am so sorry, my little man.  But now I know. 
We've kept up the couch cuddle time for a few days now and each afternoon as I tuck the blanket around your shoulders you look at me and smile; it is not the triumphant smile of one who has won a battle, but the contented smile of one who has finally gotten exactly what they needed.  And me?  I found out that I am getting exactly what I needed to: time with you to hold you close, to remember that you are still a very little boy.  Time to slow down and relax, to watch my son sleep.  I have also gotten the gift of a son who is not a puddle at five o'clock any longer; instead you are ready to help me make dinner, ready to clean up the mess of our day, and ready to play very kindly and patiently with Emma.  We are each changed by the stillness of one hour; we are replenished.
Maybe one day you will have a son, and that son will go to school for the first time and he won't take a nap afterward, and the busy days of young boyhood will wear him out to the point that you won't quite know what to do with him.  If that day comes I will let you read this so you'll know how clueless I was some days.  Hopefully you, too, will have the opportunity to learn that slowing down long enough to hold him and love him is the answer to a great many disputes and aggravations.  I do so hope you'll have a son someday.
Love, Mom

A Visit To Hick's

Apple season has descended upon Upstate NY along with the fall foliage that is almost at its peak.  We spent a crisp Sunday morning picking apples at Hick's yesterday.
 
Old apple trees with crooked bent branches surround the barn and house and hundreds of happy bees buzzed around our heads as we tried to scarf down our apple cider doughnuts.

The kids sipped from a cup of steaming apple cider, while I insisted on spending three dollars on maple sugar cotton candy.  The cider? Always a winner.  The cotton candy?  The best I have ever had, and I do consider myself a bit of a cotton candy connoisseur. 

After our snack at the barn we made our way to the orchard, where the apples were so ripe they were falling off the trees. 

The apple coverage on the ground made walking difficult for small feet, so Grandma and Grandpa pitched in to help carry Harrison and Emma and assist in their picking efforts.


I picked some, too!

I was feeling a little stiff and sore during the apple picking because I had run my first 5K the day before, hence the wincing look on my face.

Brendan kept track of our bags and reached the reddest apples high up in the trees that were out of reach for the rest of us shorties.  He also rescued Harry for the (apparently) horrifying apple studded ground and wet grass. 

We tried to get a decent picture of the kids together, but the minute the camera was obviously pointed at them they became jumping beans and would not hold still. 

We took some group shots,
  
and a few of us posed by the car.

The orchard was beautiful, the apples were outrageously expensive but delicious, and a good time was had by all.  Even me, despite being so sore that I was, admittedly, a little grumpy.