Twelve years of this boy.


I might not have started with this one if you hadn’t (gleefully) pronounced that you have vomited more than anyone else in the family. Sadly (or happily depending on your attitude which is almost always good) this is true. You were born with reflux. It was so ridiculous that I lay awake at night designing a new kind of baby sleeper which kept you strapped in and upright. Then we discovered that the swing did the trick and for several months you slept in a swing. Granny worried we would have to find an adult size to send to college with you. The puking continued as we force fed you a chocolate cupcake for your first birthday and to this day you take road trips clutching a trash bag and old towel. The fact that you do this all without expressing misery is as remarkable as the volume of vomit. Which is obviously remarkable as well.


This was the year you became a brother. It hasn’t always been easy.  He lists you as “stranger” in his cell phone and after the cat and dog in terms of his love for family members. Yet you know this isn’t true. Your sword fights and giggles and all the times you hear his voice calling out “Ollie” blend together into a relationship that is more fun than friction. You have always known the importance of having and being a brother. “I believe in you” you tell him as he struggles with math. You do. You believe in him and you brother him even as he bothers you. In this picture you are signing “more.” The shot before this one had you kissing him. Yet this shows your open eyes and face of glee. The only thing about this shot that isn’t true to our life is that Leo is the one sleeping.


Ah cooking. Around this time you were a master imaginary chef. You loved to play “fast cooking” inspired by Koto where the hibachi table performance featured clanking knives and “big fire”. Today you are working on cooking a minimum of seven meals so you will be ready to take care of yourself. You are a master of breakfast for breakfast, brunch and dinner. Your waffles are from scratch and your patter as you mix the batter is endless and endlessly charming. You make turkey tacos and boil some things. There are other dishes I am sure, but you are still best at opening a box of crackers and enjoying until the end. You are no quitter. You eat to the last crumb and almost always remember to recycle the box.


Mini Steve. Many many many people compare you to your dada. It’s easy to see why in this picture. It is more than skin deep however, you both have engineering minds and love logic. Your outlooks range from matter of fact to fantastic. You both love breakfast. Despite these things there is some me in you as well. We are always early, including when we wake up in the morning. I’m sure there are other things. So I issue this challenge…find bits of me in you. I am so proud to be half of your DNA, however the mad mix is made up. Which is something we ponder together while talking about cross pollination of beans. So that’s one more thing I gave you. An interest in purple peas. 


Admittedly this is not the best picture. I had to include it though because it combines so many of the things that made up Oliver at that age. And make you up now. You are outside. You love the outdoors, hiking, walking, swimming. They are all great. You are by the lake at our old house. You have built a fire. You love fires. Shelbure farms camp had a big bonfire and the counselors said you stayed by to tend it most of the day. You are not as much of a fire starter as a fire tender. Perhaps because you are tender. Also, if you look closely into the blur of this photo you see your signature pose. You used to cup your face with both hands for every picture. Here it is important that you hold your stick so you only have one hand free to look cute. You managed it though. Just as you manage the fire.


Chess. Your love of chess started in a big way. Our trip to Mexico when you were five had lots of milestones. You learned to swim. You became an international traveller. You tried tropical fruit. I said you TRIED tropical fruit.  As we walked from our Linda 2 casita with plunge pool that only penguins could tolerate you always had us stop at the giant chess board. You walked the squares putting yourself in the game. You still play…on a smaller physical scale and a larger mental one. Its funny as you get bigger the concrete world gets smaller and your inner world gets bigger. It is amazing to watch you grow. When you were around this age you would have us watch you grow in real time. You would scrunch your fists and your face and scream out like the hulk. You believed that you were making yourself larger with your effort. As it turns out it happens effortlessly.

2011. Your life has not been without sadness. 2011 was the year that your grandpa died. One year you picked out a t shirt that said “grandpas are for loving and fixing.” This was literally true for your grandpa. He built decks and gave cuddles. Most of all he loved you boys. I had to choose two picture for this year though. Because with the sadness came the strength to get through it. Just a week after you sat by your grandfather’s side in his last days you and your brother sat on our lawn looking at the sunset. I think Leo started it (in this case in a good way) but you joined in. As the sun slipped behind the mountains and the lake reflected pink on your faces you closed your eyes and offered yourselves a moment of peace. The same peace you wish for everyone.



This is how you feel about getting dressed up. Here are the clothes you like: Sweat pants (which we used to call play pants because little kids don’t sweat), t shirts, socks, or best of all a fizzy blanket. Occasionally you will wear a button down. (Which really should be called a button up) but it usually results in this face. Where we can’t see your cheek dimples let alone my favorite third chin dimple. After a while your smile comes back though as you grin and bear it. 


Napping. There really doesn’t need to be a particular year to highligt this. You are a world class napper. As you know I have an entire folder of photos of Oliver sleeping. It is the largest folder on my phone. That said this shot one is a great because it captures your ability to sleep in crazy situations (in the freezing cold on a pokey plastic chair) whilst accurately documenting your interest in live sports. Low. There is another side to the story though. It is the enthusiasm you showed before and after the outdoor hockey game to support your dad. It was disproportionately high given your level of interest. Which was clearly low.


This is the year we moved to Colorado. This was probably the biggest disappointment of your life. This is what you say about Vermont. “On a scale of 1 to 10 Vermont is a 12 because its as good as heaven but I’m not dead.” Despite holding onto your love of Vermont you have settled into a life of happiness in Colorado. The month we moved you made up a song which went like this: “Life is a song and inside is a chorus. The chorus is this: there is no happiness without sadness. There are problems and there are solutions. Life is an oyster and inside is a pearl. You can’t open it with force. Only with kindness.” In your own words you explain how you manage the disappointment of our move. There is happiness and sadness and together they make life. Plus there is beauty everywhere. See?


Things I see here. Your love of animals. Birds, cats, dogs, flamingoes. Your endless enjoyment of the jungle garden. You loved our little house in Sarasota and our walks to the weird 4 acre park. I see your DI shirt and remember how you worked with your friends. I also see your goofy grin. This post has so much of your reasonableness. There is so much more Oliver than that though. There is the Oliver who says with a smirk “I just stepped on my own leg after I tripped.” The Oliver who dances the robot and chicken dance. The Oliver who can’t eat chocolate ice cream without it ending up all over his face. The Oliver who delights in his bed head. The Oliver who challenges drunk adults to a badminton game versus hyper kids. The one who speaks the truth: “you know whats hard to wrap? Bacon.”


Just out of the frame of this picture is the totem you, Leo and Granny built at the beach. You are a boy who enjoys rituals. You inspired Wednesday game night and Tuesday taco night.  There are traditions to your visits to the cape. At low tide you collect critters, in the afternoon you swing in the hammock where you have played coast guard since you were a little boy, you get the ice cream most evenings. You love to swim in the pond with Toby and Alex and Mike and Hes. You love to host Dmitri and Colin and other friends. You read the Declaration of Independence on Forth of July and crack open lobsters on the deck. The only part you don’t like is the drive there…for more information on that please reference 2005…the year of your birth.


We started with vomit…we might as well end with tech. Here you are my dear. You neck is cranked into an uncomfortable position but you won’t fix it because you don’t want to disturb the dog. Speaking of the dog I will remind you of one of the most Oliver stories ever. Driving home from Leo’s soccer game I offered the family a choice. “shall we go to an open house or the rescue pet center.” Guess where we ended up? Sitting in the small room with the shivering 7 pound piglet dog you were the only one who saw reason. “There will always be dogs that need us. Now is not the best time for us to get a dog with our travel schedule. Let’s wait a few months and come back when we are really ready to take care of a dog.” Fast forward eight minutes and you are the one lugging the dog food to the car. Like always you make the most of a questionable situation. You have taken on the role of “primary person” to the cat who was abandoned. You snuggle the dog and love him even though you still think he wasn’t the best choice. You clean his pee without saying I told you so. So here you are…snuggled in a blanket, a three quarters eaten loaf of challah beside you, a dog and blanket on top of you. You are watching something. Probably youtube. You are taking time for yourself, but if we called to you, if Leo called out Ollie or if Dada and I asked you to come see us you would jump up right away. (After gently placing the dog on the floor of course.) You are here for us. And I hope you feel how much we are here for you as well.

Love love love. Your mama.

Published by

Anna Palmer

Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble,, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at

3 thoughts on “Twelve years of this boy.”

  1. What a lovely walk down memory lane for you. It is hard because we don’t really want our kids to grow up but they have a habit of doing that. My daughter will be 36 in two weeks and I can’t believe it.

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