Shep got running shoes. And OH MY GOODNESS is he excited. Clearly his father’s son, that one, with their mutual love of shoes.
He doesn’t walk in his running shoes. He runs. I’m not sure he’s stopped running since he first put them on, and he would be happy to demonstrate to anyone who would care to watch.
And if we run into someone else wearing New Balance? Jackpot.
Shep has been late coming to art. Up until this point, we've seen nothing but scribbles.
Then, all of a sudden, the light switch turned on.
He began drawing one scene, over and over. Dirt, grass, and a sun in the sky. Simple, but completely recognizable. The other night I was putting him to bed, and I said something about how soon he would be able to write his name. To which he responded, "Oh, I already know how to write my name." And he grabbed paper and a pen, and sure enough, he does.
Typically, I would sigh and chalk this up to an absent-minded parent and a second child, but I've really, truly seen not a hint of interest in art from him. And now, out of the blue, here it is.
This is his latest work, inspired by the book, The Dot, which is (in my opinion) a must-have on any bookshelf.
Video by Tom.
Shep, today you turn four. Which, I have to confess, is a little jarring for me. With Neko out there leading the pack, I'm used to her being the older one, and you are my three-year-old, toddling along behind. But now? You're officially in Kid territory.
This is a little bittersweet for me. You are my cuddler. You like nothing more than to crawl into my lap, give me double (or triple!) kisses, and hug for what seems like days. As each birthday clicks by, I know these days are numbered. But for the moment, you are the perfect lap and hug size, and I plan to stock up for the inevitable famine.
When we thought about what to get you for your birthday, it made us chuckle a bit. Things you love best? Your enormous stock pot. Your collection of dogs. Model Magic, and creating the largest ball of it you can fathom. Anything magnetic. A wooden coin. You had a meltdown the other day at my mom's house because you lost the button you had been carrying around all day—a very ordinary, grey button. We tried to ply you with another button, but to no avail. You wanted YOUR button.
You are at that magic age where any gift would thrill you. Every package you opened elicited a squeal of glee. I love this age, the time before you're disappointed by what the stack of presents didn't hold. You were thrilled with your cake. Your breakfast. Your day.
When people would call to wish you well, you got on the phone and screamed, "Happy birthday!" as if it's all of our birthdays, and we can't help but celebrate right along with you.
And this is your gift. You adore this life you live, and you scoop us all up for the ride.
I'm honored to ride shotgun as long you offer me the seat.
Happy birthday, little man.
This is Shep's birthday cake. Now, you're probably thinking, "Hmmm. This isn't quite up to the standards we've seen in the past. What going on? Are you exhausted from birthday season? Do you not love Shep as much?"
There's a good reason for this.
Each year we ask the kids what they would like their birthday cake to be. Neko happened to be standing nearby when Tom asked this of Shep, so Neko chimed in, ultimately convincing him that a "baby animals" theme would be ideal. (Which, to be fair, is a pretty perfect theme for him, since he does love baby animals.) And, having convinced him of an acceptable topic, she proceeded to sketch up what the cake should look like.
The sketch:
I took a few creative liberties (I eliminated that whole column on the left since Playmobil doesn't make plesiosaurs), but Neko seemed to be okay with it. "That's perfect!" she exclaimed when she saw it.
And Shep? After all, it is his birthday, right? He is still in that stage of life where he loves his sister more than anything, and if she loves it, he loves it, too. He took one look, and gasped, "It's BEAUTIFUL!"
The bonus? I actually went to bed on time.
We had our follow-up appointment for Shep’s tics today. (Six months later.) We went to the new campus of our local children’s hospital, and, omigosh, for any of you that are local and might find yourself in need of a children’s hospital—IT IS BEAUTIFUL. Seriously, I’ve considered going back on a random Thursday because I think we could kill a few hours there happily.
The whole building is bright and full of windows. Waiting areas are filled with televisions and murals with blinking lights, carts with loads of books, tiles on the floor that squish colors when you walk on them. And in the lobby? Starbucks!
So well done.
Okay, back to our appointment. We had hardly any wait time anywhere. The staff was incredibly kind. We loved the doctor. He was friendly and fabulous with Shep. We talked about where we are and where we’re headed. Because of the new electronic system, he was able to pull up Shep’s CAT scan and said everything looked clear.
Bottom line? We’ll just wait and see. Shep’s tic is nowhere near as bad as it was that first weekend it began. We only see it every now and then, mostly when he’s tired or stressed. He developed a clicking in his throat for about a week about a month ago. But other than that, he seems very normal.
They could go away, but I suspect he’ll have tics on and off his whole life, but I doubt any of them will ever be bad enough to merit medication.
But in the meantime, I feel like we’re in excellent hands. We’ve been given the key to the secret back door, an email address and nurse’s phone number, so we can get an appointment quickly if we ever feel we need one. But at this point we don't even have a follow-up appointment. The doctor told us to just get to go back to living our normal life. Which sounds pretty good.
