Let's talk about my kids some more! Part Two: Kendall

Many many many blog posts ago (I have lost track of how long, my days are measured in Dora the Explorer episodes) I wrote a blog post dedicated to my firstborn child, my Banana. Since then, I've kind of forgotten about the other two...not the other two kids, but the other two blog posts about the other two kids. I figured it was no big deal, that eventually no one would remember anyway.

Wrong.

In recent weeks, more than one friend has asked when I'm going to finish up the whole blogging about each specific child thing. So while the Chunk eats goldfish crackers in Daddy's recliner (sorry honey) I figured I'd start drafting a missive that is centered solely around the cutest preschooler in the world, my Kbear.

Kbear was yet another surprise baby. Her sister was just nine months old when I found out that I was pregnant again. We told my parents the news after first stuffing them full of a fabulous Easter dinner, mostly because when people have a belly full of from-scratch scalloped potatoes, they are less likely to chase your husband with a crowbar when you tell them that he has knocked up their daughter for the second time in less than three years.

But honestly, we shouldn't have worried. They were completely delighted. My mother-in-law was completely delighted. Our friends just thought we were nuts. And while I was hanging over the toilet in the midst of morning sickness hell while Banana howled from her pack-and-play, I swore that I would never have sex again.


But when Kbear arrived, she was just about perfect, even down to the little "stork bites" she had on her back and tummy. He had the softest curly blond hair you'd ever seen. She was born at exactly two o'clock in the morning in the midst of an incredible raging midwest thunderstorm. Someday I'll tell you the whole story, but Skippy barely made it to the hospital in time, just as my water broke all over my poor labor nurse. It was a quick labor. It was my only natural labor, mostly because she just came way too quickly. I myself am a big fan of hospital drugs, but it wasn't to be.

Kbear arrived fast, and she's been on the go ever since. She is a ball of green eyed curly haired spitfire that just never stops.

My big concern for K is that we do everything we can to avoid "middle child syndrome." I'm a big believer in birth order characteristics. We do lots of things to make her feel like she's a cool cat. I tell her all the time that she is special because she is the only one in our family who gets to be both a big sister and a little sister. She is friendly, percocious, and smart as a whip. She is constantly pushing Banana away and trying to follow right behind her all at the same time. She will knock Chunk over in her rush to answer the door only to turn right around to cuddle with him on the couch for as long as he'll stand it.


If Banana is my generous and empathetic child, K is my hell-on-wheels kid. There is a saying that "Well behaved women rarely make history." If that's true, then someday my K will be legendary. But when all is said and done and hurricane Kbear finally decides to rest in calm waters, there was never a sweeter, more loving, warm and cuddly kid on the planet. She is bright, funny, kind, and makes friends wherever we go.

Banana is always going to be my "big girl" - that's what happens to the first kid. They will always seem bigger and more grown up than they really are. You have to watch it and constantly remind yourself that they are NOT the little adult you sometimes imagine. But K....K will always be my baby girl. This past fall she turned five and I swear it was like someone flipped a light on - I just can't believe how big she is getting.

In fact, I thought about it early this morning when Kbear and I made a mad dash to Fred Meyer before pre-school because she is today's designated "snack helper." Last night she told me she wanted to bring muffins. She ALWAYS wants to bring muffins. But Mommy was tired. Mommy had been on the go all day. And Mommy did not want to make muffins. I had hoped that when she woke up this morning, she would be content to grab two boxes of 100 calorie packs to trot off with, but no such luck.

So there we were in Fred Meyer at 7:40 this morning, buying muffins. Because honestly, I don't tell my kids no when it's something little like that - yeah the muffins cost four thousand times more than they would have if I had made them and yeah, her buddies probably won't even eat them, but I've learned that if you expect K to listen to "no" when it really matters, like "we don't try to open car doors when we're going down the freeway" then you need to pick your battles VERY carefully. And the battle of blueberry muffins was not one I was willing to wage.

Anyway, the muffins aren't the point. The point is that when we arrived at preschool, I received my monthly newsletter from K's teacher. Amongst notes about the upcoming Valentine's Day party and book orders is an invoice for the upcoming month of three days a week/three hours a day bliss. So as usual, while I am walking back to my van I am tallying up the coming month's bills and matching them up to paydays and thinking that it's awesome that we only have four more months of preschool to pay for and God, I will be SO glad when I don't have to shell out that extra eighty five dollars a month.....

I mean, won't I?

Um....................

All of a sudden I'm feeling kind of sick to my stomach.


Only four more months of preschool before it's time for summer. And only one more summer before it's time to send my K off to big kid school. She will be in Kindergarten in the fall. ALL DAY KINDERGARTEN. That means that from six fifteen in the morning until three fifteen in the afternoon, my girls will both be off learning and playing and having fun while Chunk and I hang at home. That means that my little monster that eats three packets of oatmeal while she watches Seasame Street will be gone all day. My thrift store girlfriend. My curly headed grocery store companion who never fails to remind me to buy cereal. She won't be all mine any more.

My little girl will be a big girl. And what on earth will I do then?

So I'm starting to make a list of activities for us to do this summer. Another big trip isn't in the cards this year, but damn it, we're going to have fun. I am feeling very quietly frantic about my little girl growing up, but I know that I'm going to do everything that I can to enjoy it.