There were beautiful party dresses, chosen just for the special occasion:

There were good friends and lots of laughing:

There was an extra-special birthday cake with not one but two layers – the top was a white cake, dyed pink, and the bottom was raspberry-lemon. To-die-for comes to mind…

There was painting:

There were presents:

There was also a subtle moment of mommy’s tears, just as Pea blew out her candles. That wasn’t caught on camera, thank God.

The next morning, the first words out of Pea’s mouth were, “I’m glad to be your kid.”

Enough said.

We have a good thing going on here. A very good thing, indeed…

Funny thing is, I don’t have any of those books any more. I kept “What to Expect: The Toddler Years,” and the “Love & Logic” series. The former because I like it, it’s full of good information, non-judgmental and generic information, and the latter because, well, on occasion it works for us with our defiant preschooler.

Minutes after being born. The only time she was silent the entire three days we were in the hospital:

Her first birthday party, in Fort Worth:

Her second birthday party, also in Fort Worth:

Her third birthday party, just after moving to Utah:

Her fourth birthday party is this Saturday. All of the kids from her preschool class will be there, as well as some of her buddies from outside of her class. She’s very excited. We just came back from Target, where we were picking up ‘supplies.’ She’s gone birthday dress shopping, found a pair of party shoes, and can’t stop talking about it.

But in the meantime, as we wait for the big day to arrive, I’m looking through photos of her last four years, and ugh. My heartstrings are being tugged. They just grow so stinking fast, you know? From a helpless newborn to a fiercely independent preschooler. And this is not to say that I’m weepy for another baby, those days are long behind me. Especially now, that one girlfriend has a brand-new baby, and another just found out she’s pregnant for the third time. My husband will be relieved to know that I feel no pangs of desire for what they are going through right now, or will be, in the next seven or so months.

But, still. Babies. They’re so awesome. But you know what? So are preschoolers who can tell it like it is.

Happy almost-fourth birthday, little Miss Sweet Pea. I love you…

Oh, and The Bump? Brought to you by the geniuses behind The Knot. If you’ve recently gotten married (like in the last six or so years, which is about when I discovered their site), are planning a wedding, or are familiar with the magazine aisle at your grocery (there’s a magazine!), then you’ll know who I’m talking about.

And so, with no further ado, my first post for The Bump…

And then Pea came along, and my husband turned me on to Mac Journal. It’s so much more convenient for me, and I have no idea why. As much as I like to write with pencils, the keyboard seems so much faster. Easier. And so I started a journal for Pea, and then a second one for Coco. Both journals begin with the day the girls were born. I update them regularly. That’s about once a week now. Which is pretty good, I think. And when something funny or noteworthy or sweet or heartbreaking or milestone-ish happens, and I’m not at home near my computer, I send myself an email from my iPhone with the brief details, and then add it in later. Other times, I simply go into the journals and quickly write a title that will jog my memory and then come back at a later date to enter in the actual “story.”

And I save everything. Too much, in fact. But over the last three years, I’ve been so happy that I did. The first sketchbook that Pea finished with all of her paintings, doodles and watercolor handprints? I glued pretty paper to the cover, wrote her name and the date it was started and finished on it, and instant gift for Pea’s grandmother, GiGi – my mother, the art maven. No gift will ever be more perfect than that, Pea’s first art portfolio.

I’ve saved every email my husband ever sent me from the time I was pregnant with Pea, through the first year of her life when she was an only child, to the day just after her 1st birthday when I realized that I might be pregnant again, through Coco’s first year of life, all of which tell the story of their lives. How my husband fell more and more in love with me, every day, as my belly grew (seventy and fifty pounds worth of growing!) with each pregnancy. I don’t know what I’m going to do with those emails, but I have a few ideas. One is to include them, somehow, along with photographs and other mementos, with the journals I’ve kept for Pea and Coco. I envision a scrapbook of sorts, a beautifully bound leather book with the each girl’s name and the date of their birth. Printed journals will be included, with photographs, hospital bassinet name plates, ticket stubs, school report cards, drawings, birthday invitations, emails and cards from loved ones. I could go on and on. But I won’t. Suffice it to say that this project? Is the sole reason I have become a hoarder of any and everything remotely related to the lives of my girls. And my big dream? Is to present each girl with her book when she herself becomes a mother for the first time.

But as I look through my desk drawer, my agenda, my kitchen junk drawer, and collect the myriad scraps of paper that I’ve hurriedly scribbled those little tidbits of life with my children, I am struck with the notion that there just has to be another project in there. Something equally amusing and clever and… memorable.

And here it is. So simple. Why didn’t I think of this? Just throw all of those humorous and mind-boggling thoughts that fly out of children’s mouths and are subsequently scribbled on found items dug from the darkest reaches of your handbag (or diaper bag), and toss them in a jar. And then do what the author of the blog where I found this idea, Brooke Reynolds (the former Senior Art Director for Martha Stewart Kids and Martha Stewart Living) does… and pull one of those random slips of paper from the jar to read and jolt yourself back to the present, and the passionate love you have for your children. Trust me, it’s kind of hard to remember that life is so good with young kids when you have a three-year old who is in the throes of an erupting temper-fit the size of Mount St. Helens…

When each of our girls was born, we didn’t do ‘nurseries’ for them. And although we were in Fort Worth when both arrived, our philosophy regarding design remains the same now as it was then: kids should grow into their rooms, not out of them. So no cuddly farm-animal themes, no baby pink walls or chenille butterfly rugs. We went classic and simple. That streamlined look had another benefit: we did not know who our girls were at the time; their personalities. And if we had made a guess? We’d have been very wrong. Pea? Who I thought was going to be my little tomboy? She’s all about pink, sparkles and princesses. And Coco? Who I thought was so quiet and sweet? Well, she’s still quiet and sweet, although getting louder by the day, but she’s also turning into the real adventuress of the two girls. Outdoorsy, barefoot, climbing on anything that she can pull herself up onto. Which would include the rock retaining wall in our backyard.

So here we are, working on their rooms. Pea? Only wants pink. But I cannot do pink walls. I’m sorry, I cannot. I’ve looked at hundreds of pinks, and you know what? Pink is pink. Even when it has a crafty name like ‘Romantic Pink’ or ‘Queen Anne Pink.’ And I just can’t, won’t and don’t do pink. Not on the walls, anyway. So, we opted for a new duvet set from Dwell Studio, called ‘Carousel.’ Of course, we’ll be doing solid sheets with it, but it was a pink print that both Pea and I could live with, so pink it is… at least on the bed. With this gorgeous faux-fur blanket folded at the bottom. Because I like my beds to have layers and texture to the nines. Oh, and it snowed here this morning. Snow. On September 1st. And it’s cold out. And so layers? Perfect for winter, which it would seem is right around the corner.

But the real score is for Coco’s room. She’s bright and shiny and the center of attention in any room, so I knew that we’d need some fantastic art for her walls. But after searching and searching, I couldn’t commit. Art is tough for kid’s rooms, too. There are so many wonderful options that I came across during my search, but they were all too juvenile. They weren’t going to grow with her. And then, it occurred to me. The perfect pieces to hang on her walls. Vintage affiches scolaire. From France. And the search was on…

Affiches scolaire were widely used in French schools to help the teacher illustrate lesson plans. They were hung all over the walls. Everything from body parts to the four seasons to the food groups, sports, a diagram of the brain. You name it, it was covered in one of these posters. French eBay has a decent selection, but so many of the sellers were unwilling to ship to the states. And then? I found it. The quintessential little shop for children’s design. Located in France! But with an on-line shop, as well. And they were willing to ship to the states. And while you do have two shop options with Bianca and Family, one in French and the other in English, it was the French site that had the greatest selection of inventory: furniture, art, decorative objects. The English version of the shop had no selection of the posters to speak of. And so, all those years of studying French? Middle school? High school? College? As an adult at the Alliance Francaise in New York City? Time to put my investment to the test. And after my initial correspondence with the lovely Muriel of Bianca and Family? After she told me my French was impeccable? Naturally, I 1) considered relocating my family to France – Paris, to be exact – tout de suite, and 2) ordered four affiches scolaire for my little girl’s room.

They arrived, I unrolled, I gasped. They are even more incredibly awesomely chic than I could ever have imagined. These particular four are from the 60s. And when I pulled them out of their shipping tube and eagerly unrolled them, they had that wonderful old classroom smell. French classroom smell. Is there even such a thing? Perhaps just in this Francophile’s head. But once these posters are matted and framed in some kind of black metal (at least that’s how I’m picturing them right now), they are going to be the focal point of little Coco’s room. Vibrant and stylish, just like my little Coco Puff.

And of course, Pea wandered in while I was literally “oohing” and “ahhing” over every single item I clicked on (and I clicked on them all) on the Bianca and Family website, and let me know that she just had to have these little French-style market baskets to organize her “stuff.“ And so, as I added four of them to my shopping cart, I envisioned Pea, in her twenties, strolling in the south of France with one of these baskets, albeit a larger version, slung lazily over the crook of her arm. She’s wandering in and out of stalls at an outdoor Farmer’s Market, a crusty loaf of bread peeking out from the basket, some soft and runny cheese in there, too. Yes, that little fantasy sealed it for me. And apparently for her, too. Because when the carton from France arrived, she asked aloud, after adorning herself with her miniature French straw market totes, “can we go to Paris after school today?” Oh, don’t I wish that we could…

I picked up Pea from nursery school today. I was right on time, but all of the other seven kids in her class had already left for the day. She was in the back of the room, playing with number magnets on a magnetic board, her back to me. She was wearing her little backpack with her name stitched across it. She was in blue jeans and her hair was in a bun and she was wearing a little necklace that has a snowflake charm on it that was turned around so that the charm was facing me. And as I watched her move the little magnets around on the board, I was just seized with this love for her that was so intense I was moved to tears. I have no idea what came over me, I was trying so hard to contain it, but I could not. I just felt her entire life beating in my heart and I couldn’t control myself. I walked up behind her and put my head next to hers, and without skipping a beat, she turned and kissed me. I hadn’t said a word, but somehow, at that exact moment, we had this really strong connection and she just knew that it was her mama beside her. Honestly, having kids is the best thing I’ve ever done. I’ve been good at many things in my life, but this? Being a mother? It’s what I am the very, very best at doing…

Do not be fooled.

She is a combustible bundle of energy, that one. And it’s all I can do to keep up with her.

Today, she mastered the childproof gate that leads up the stairs to the master bedroom and bath. I found her in the den with the contents of my make-up drawer. I thought, wow, that’s so weird. When did I bring all of that stuff down here?

Uh, I didn’t. She did.

She just does not stop. I am so tired. She is so not…

She’s been using a lot of Spanish terms lately that I just know she’s picking up from the show. But her favorite, by far, is still “ayuda me!” I think she might even be using that more than it’s English counterpart, “help me!”

And so it’s turned into a sort of a party trick. In order to show off my daughter’s insane aptitude for foreign language, I sometimes prompt her: “Pea, how do you say ‘help me’ in Spanish?”

And she correctly replies, “ayuda me!”

And so today, once again, I prompted her with the request to “please, say “help me in Spanish.”

And she so politely replied… “help me in Spanish.”

Kids are funny that way, huh? Clever, too.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

No, you go away!”

All things you would expect to hear from a two-and-a-half year old, right? That would be par for the Terrible Two course, right?

Ah, but you would be wrong. So very, very wrong.

These are three things that my husband has pointed out today that I have said. To my toddler daughter.

That’s right, my name is Melissa, and I am apparently a toddler going through the Terrible Twos.

In all honestly, the first one is perfectly acceptable to have said, and when I said it, I was talking to my husband, who was refereeing a game of bounce-the-ball-off-of-Pea’s-head-in-retaliation-for-pegging-mommy-in-the-head-
with-it-just-a-minute-earlier.

And the second one? I can’t stand to be told what to do by anyone. Most of all, a two-year old tyrant.

And the last one? Pea told me to go away, all the while waving her hand in my face in the universal “no more” wave. That was irritating. So, I gave as good as I got.

I’m not necessarily proud of these things. Although, I am proud that I didn’t yell or melt down or anything really damaging like that. But I am aware that I should, really, for the sake of all involved, but mostly for my own integrity, work on relating to my daughter in a perhaps more mature way, you know? Because in hindsight, whoa. I am thirty-five years old. Time to act it.

Pea is killing me with her attitude today. She has grown so accustomed over the last few days to being coddled and pampered and catered to that I fear we have created a pretty little… monster. And it’s not that I think we shouldn’t have taken extra-special care of our little girl when she was so under the weather, but now that she’s on the mend, I fear it’s going to take us just days and days and days to get her back on schedule.

She has been waking up in the morning at 5:30 the past few days and won’t go back to sleep unless I crawl into her bed with her. And I don’t want to do that. Once was enough. I woke up with a kink in my neck, a hand slung over my face and barely clinging to the edge of her little twin bed. This kid is a messy sleeper. Just like her dad.

She won’t eat anything but popsicles. Still. Can a kid subsist on popsicles alone?

And the bossiness. Oh my God, the bossiness. I can’t tell anymore if it’s her not feeling well, or if somehow the worst of the Terrible Twos just happened to coincide with this dreadful ear infection.

“Go away.”

“What are you doing to me, Mommy?”

“Go away! Go away! Go away!”

“I don’t want it.”

“Go away! NOW!”

What the…?

Where does she learn to say these things? Where? She’s barely two-and-a-half!

Out of the mouths of babes…