Gems From Today

Today has been an unusually entertaining day, in terms of things that Luke has said to me. Here are a few of my favorites:

Me: The bumblebee did not sting you.
Luke, nearly hysterical: It diiiiiiid!!!!!
Me: Luke. I am looking at the spot where you think you got stung and it's not even red.
Luke: It STIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGED MEEEEEE!!!!
Me: If you got stung, you would be really ouchy. Are you really ouchy?
Luke: No.
Me: Ok, good. Anyway, I don't even know if bumblebees have stingers. Do you think they do?
Luke: I don't know. But they do have really sharp feet and he climbed on me and walked on my pants and his sharp feet poked me. And now, he's digging in the grass and when he gets done, he will come back and really sting me, so let's go back inside. Right now.

I convinced him to try riding his bike, since that was why we had gone outside in the first place. He rode for about 2 minutes, then decided that his leg was too sore to continue riding, so we went back inside, where he related the whole incident to McMoose and then played happily for about 20 minutes. During this time, there was no mention of the bee, the alleged sting, or a sore leg.

Me: Ok, Luke, it's time to clean up so we can eat lunch.
Luke: I cannot.
Me: I believe you can.
Luke: No, I really cannot. I don't have big muscles. I used to have big muscles, but then, the bee stinged my muscles and made them really, really small. So now, I have baby muscles and they cannot clean up. They cannot walk. Can you carry me to the table?

Once he had regained his ability to walk (and clean,) we made peanut butter sandwiches for our lunch. I told him to take the bread back to the pantry and while he had the door open, Weston decided to go explore in there.
Luke: Mama! Mama! Mamamamamamamama!
Me: What?!
Luke: The baby is in the pantry, looking at the toilet paper.
Me: Ok. I'll get him in a second.
Luke: Mama! The BABY is in the PANTRY, I said! Get him! Get him, get him, get him!
Me: Dude! I will get him in. one. second.
Luke: Mama, I am really not comfortable with the baby being in the pantry.

What I Like About You

Yesterday evening, after McMoose finished working, we decided to go to a nearby park and explore the possibilities of some walking trails. We never did find the trail we were looking for, but we enjoyed exploring anyhow. We discovered inchworms and spiders, frogs and snakes, a centipede and a chrysalis and entirely too many anthills for my comfort.

As we were heading back toward the car, McMoose took a short detour to follow what he now believes was the path we were looking for the entire time and as Weston snoozed in a baby carrier on my back, Luke and I shifted from one foot to the other, dug our toes into the ground, and enjoyed the breeze.

"Luka," I said, "Did you know that I like you a lot?"

He nodded, and then asked, "What do you like about me?"

The question stopped me for a moment. How do I capture all that I like about this child that grew in my body and the person he's becoming?

"I like how sweet you are," I began, "and I like the way you talk to me about things. I like how funny you are and I like how you pretend to be a dinosaur."

He thought about this for a moment and nodded again. "What else?"

"I like your blue eye and your green eye. I like how you sit with me and read 10 library books in a row. I like the way your hair smells like baby shampoo."

He grinned.

"I like your hand, which is growing every minute and soon, it will be bigger than mine. Did you know that?"

"Yes."

"And I like how very kind you are to your baby. And I like how excited you get when you see interesting things. And I like hearing about what you think about things."

He smiled again, apparently content with this very partial list I had generated and McMoose re-joined us and we went about the rest of our evening, but I am so glad that we had the time and space for this conversation to happen.

Eight!

These late night/early morning posts are kind of becoming a habit, aren't they? Probably one I should nip in the bud.

Weston turned eight months old today...uh...yesterday? Yes, I suppose that technically, it was yesterday. Over the past month, he's gotten to be a pretty fast crawler and has gotten much steadier on his feet. He's always pulling up on something and earlier in the month, the thing he was pulling up on had to be pretty stable to give him the support he needed to get to his feet, but over the past couple of days, he has started pulling up on objects that move and shift. Just today, he stood up at the coffee table and looked at me and I thought, My goodness, when did he get so TALL? It wasn't so very long ago that his head was shorter than the table and now, his entire face is above it.

He has really been enjoying life as a little brother this month. He has been interacting so much more with Luke and there have been times when I can genuinely say that they're playing together. A couple of weeks ago, there was a loud noise that scared Weston and he began fussing, but instead of crawling to me, he crawled straight to Luke for protection. These are the moments that make my soul happy.

He has also been babbling a lot more. For a while, I was concerned because he wasn't babbling "the right way," but he seems to have figured it out. He constantly follows me around, saying, "Mama, mama, mama!" I know that sounds ridiculous because eight-month-olds do not talk and in all likelihood, he's probably just making an easy consonant sound, BUT he really seems to say it TO ME. When he's upset, he crawls around in search of me and says, "Mama." I know it sounds crazy, but still, it sounds to my ears (and McMoose's ears and Luke's ears) like he's really calling for me.

I am amazed by how persistent he is. He goes for the same (forbidden) objects time and again...and by "time and again," I mean "thirty times in a row." Seriously. He thinks it's a great game to go for the electrical outlet or the dvd tower or my sewing machine cords over and over as I move him away. In fact, he frequently makes noise to get my attention, waits until I see him, and then tucks his head down and makes a beeline for the forbidden object. Something tells me that this one is going to give me a run for my money!

Every night, as I nurse him to sleep, I ask him if he feels how very much we love him and though I know he doesn't understand what I'm saying, his response is always to smile and pat my face. Maybe he does understand, after all.

Obviously

Usually, when I shower, Weston grumbles. And by "grumbles," I mean "screams at the top of his lungs." It makes for some stressful showers. (Did you know that you can get your entire body soaped and rinsed off in 27 seconds? Just in case you were wondering.)

Yesterday morning, however, I got a nice, long, peaceful shower. Weston sat in his baby seat and Luke sat beside him and they "traded" toys back and forth. I was keeping an ear on them because they were literally two feet away from me, but the glass door fogs up, as glass doors tend to do.

Imagine my surprise when I stepped out, refreshed, to find Weston...chewing...on something.

Me: What are you eating?!
Luke: It's okay, Mama. He's having a raisin.
Me: He's having a WHAT?!
Luke: A raisin. We're both eating raisins. We're sharing!
Me: I don't think he CAN eat raisins.
Luke, looking at me like I had lost my mind: Yes, he can. He's doing it right now, see?
Me: Well, no, but...What I meant...Uh...Gah! Ok. He's eating raisins. Wait. Did you share your peanut butter cereal with him, too?
Luke, speaking very slowly, as if to a particularly obtuse individual: No. Do you remember that he doesn't have any teeth?

(In Luke's defense, he was being very sweet and smushing each raisin before feeding it to "his baby," as he still refers to Weston.)

Why One Should Avoid Blogging Past Midnight

Has it really been a week since I've written here? Yes. It really has. Have I really only written six posts this month? Yes. I really have. Am I really lying here, awake, at 2 am, writing instead of sleeping? Yes. I really am.

It's a funny thing, this writing. The times I have the most to say are the times when, really, nothing much is happening. Which might explain the week-long absence--after all, there doesn't seem to be a single moment anymore in which something isn't happening. And if there does happen to be a moment when there's nothing happening in the physical sense of the word, there is certainly no end to the happenings in my mind.

Lately, the focus of my musings has been work. Or rather, working outside the home. As much as I enjoy staying home with these children, as much as I don't want to leave them, I wonder if this is a choice I will regret. Will I, in ten years, look back and think, If only I had maintained a presence in the outside world...

Will it be harder for me to re-enter the working world, whenever that happens? Am I showing my boys that men work and women stay home? Am I setting myself up for trouble by not having an income of my own, just in case? Am I living in a bubble of a world, insulated from reality, as was recently suggested to me?

And the only answer I have to any of that is Maybe. Maybe I will regret these years. But if I chose to go out and find a job, would that serve to inoculate me against regret? No, of course not. If I made that choice, would I, in ten years, look back and think, If only I had more time with them when they were babies...

At the end of the day, the real question seems to be this: Which regret would I rather have? And of course, that's an unanswerable question. Regardless of which regret I choose, simply by virtue of it being regrettable, I would wish that I had chosen differently. But man, these choices seemed easier when they were hypothetical.

(Actually...this is STILL hypothetical because "going back to work" implies that I have some kind of work to go back TO, which I don't. Let's hear it for Highly Useless Master's Degrees!)

Outsmarted

When all his peers were going through the hitting-kicking-biting-pushing stage, Luke breezed right on through it like a little angel. Now, the halo is getting a quite tarnished. It's mainly the pushing--no, really, it's mainly the TACKLING that concerns me. If someone pushes him just a tiny bit, he tackles them to the ground and lies on top of them. If someone takes a toy from him, he hits them and then takes the toy back AND THEN tackles them to the ground and lies on top of them. If someone hits him, he hits them back AND THEN tackles them to the ground and lies on top of them. Surely, you're seeing a trend.

Yesterday, we were at open gym and he wanted all the little cars. Now, there were enough other toys that he probably COULD have had all the cars and there would still have been plenty for everyone else to play with, but, uh, are you familiar with toddlers? And the fact that they really only want the toys that someone else has? So of course, as soon as he started hoarding little cars, the little cars became the MOST COVETED TOY EVER. Hence the ensuing grab for power...and cars.

I talked to him about sharing...and then talked to him again...and then left the gym for a few minutes so he could be away from the situation. Before going back in, I told him that he could play with as many cars as he could carry IN HIS HANDS because as soon as he put them down, other kids came to play with them and that was escalating the pushing-hitting-tackling behavior. So I figured that there were, like, thirty cars there, so if each toddler could only carry two--or at the very most, three--then, there would be more than enough for everyone, right? Silly me.

Not five minutes later, I noticed my child walking around carrying one of the plastic boxes that they use for toy storage. And inside the box were about 20 cars. Because technically, TECHNICALLY, he was carrying them all "in his hands."

Standing Man

Here are a few more pictures from last month

This was the first time Weston pulled himself up on a piece of furniture.
Which would make this the first time he pulled up and then tried to let go. (It was soon followed by the first time he pulled up, tried to let go, and then fell on his face.)
As it turns out, standing is great fun. Especially standing and chewing on furniture. The other day, Luke observed that, "Weston is like a doggie...he just chews on everything!"
So very pleased with himself.

Winter Weather

A few weeks ago, we had our first--and presumably, last--snow of the season. It wasn't the six inches I was unrealistically hoping for, but it was about an inch and it did stick enough that we were able to go out and play in it. Usually, I get very excited about the mere possibility of snow--and usually, I'm disappointed because they always seem to predict more snow than we get. This time, the week before had been so warm and spring-like that I flat out didn't believe the forecast, so it was a very nice surprise when we actually did get snow. Luke absolutely loved the snow and stayed and played in it for far longer than I thought he would...and then, woke up the next morning and played in it some more. Raleigh being what it is, it was upward of 50 degrees that next day, so it melted much faster than he might have liked, but he did get some good snow play in while he could.

I told him to find a winter hat...this is what he came up with.
Weston: dressed, ready, and utterly unimpressed.
Why, yes, I did borrow McMoose's ludicrously puffy jacket. And why not?
McMoose let Weston feel the snow. I believe his reaction was, "I am touching something cold and wet. I do not approve."

There wasn't enough on the ground at this point to make a decent snowball, so Luke just got some off the cars instead.
McMoose's rendition of a firebird. Quite the artist, that one.
I'm not sure who brought the bucket out--I suspect it was McMoose. But making snow castles was great fun, according to Luke. Step One: Run crazy circles around the car, collecting snow in a bucket:
Step Two: Plop!
And not pictured here is Step Three, which is also known as The Most Fun Step: Stomp!

Lennonian Wisdom

You know how interviewers love to ask where you see yourself in five years? I'm pretty sure I was asked that question five--okay, six--years ago, when I was visiting graduate schools. I obsessed about my answer to that question beforehand. Ob. Sessed. I saw myself as a researcher. I saw myself holding (or at least being well on my way to holding) a doctorate. I saw myself as a writer. I saw myself as a professor. I saw myself as a clinician.

Here's what I didn't see: A sweet, sleeping baby drooling on my arm. A child who is approaching his third birthday at a rather alarming rate asking me to hug and kiss his imaginary dragon. (I responded that I was worried that the dragon might blow fire at me, to which Luke replied with a great sigh that, "It's just PRETEND, Mama...Did you know that pretend dragons won't hurt you?") A McMoose who is, at this very moment, changing the oil in my car. Six years ago, I had no idea how much love my life would contain.

Six years ago, I also had no idea that I would stay up until midnight, sewing a penguin costume. What's that saying--life is what happens while you're busy making other plans?

Conflicted

There are days. There are days that go so wonderfully well. There are days that are filled with sunshine and music and laughter. Today was one of those days.

We woke up and had a leisurely morning because we had no plans to leave the house today. Luke and Weston are always so thrilled to see each other in the mornings and it's nice when I don't have to rush that reunion. Weston decided he'd like to nap early, so he fell asleep and then, Luke and I got to sing. We got to draw designs in cornstarch. We got to turn on some music and dance around on the landing at the top of the stairs. There were moments, during all this, that I wished I could capture, freeze, so I could revisit them during the difficult times.

There are days. There are days that go so very poorly. There are days that are filled with conflict and tears and a complete dearth of reason. Today was also one of those.

He stated that penguins have holes in their hands and when I tried to ask him what he meant, he jumped around and yelled, "Nooooooooo!" He wanted me to stay upstairs while he played downstairs by himself and when I explained that really, it was lunchtime and I needed to get our food ready, he threw such an unholy fit that I had to carry him, kicking and screaming, down the stairs because I was worried that otherwise, he'd fall down them in the midst of all his jumping and writhing. He didn't want to eat his cauliflower and when I said, "Ok, I'll eat it then," he kicked the table and informed me that he wanted to put it RIGHT THERE in the middle of the table and save it for his friend. He informed me that he was a growing child, and would very much like a boiled egg, but when I went to put in an egg to boil, he yelled that he wanted an egg with a WHITE shell instead of an egg with a BROWN shell. (Guess which kind we had.) And then, THEN, he ate the yolk of one egg and then decided that the other egg was "real." And the "real" egg was his friend. And he wanted the "real" egg friend to take a nap with him. In his bed.

There are days that leave me exhausted and wishing that I had an outside job to go to, a place where I could expect to deal with reasonable adults, a place where I might get a coffee break every now and then. There's a voice that reminds me that if I did have that job, I would have missed out on the dancing.

Fragmented

• There are times when I'm looking out of the bedroom window and I see The Dog wandering around the yard, and the first thought in my head is, "Oh, my goodness, there's an ANIMAL out there!" Which is true enough, but when I think "ANIMAL," I'm not thinking "pet dog," I'm thinking "rabid beast." And though we might describe The Dog as a rabid beast from time to time, he isn't exactly menacing.
• I had trouble sleeping last night, so I lay awake, relishing the quiet and I realized something: Weston wakes up a LOT. I mean, he doesn't always wake ME up or ask for any help in getting back to sleep, but he very frequently stirs, rolls over, picks his head up and looks around, licks the mattress--yes, LICKS the mattress--and just generally moves around.
• Luke is pretty convinced that getting a ticket from the cops is something to be desired. He frequently talks about the prospect of being pulled over in a rather awestruck voice. I worry about that child, sometimes.
• Weston now pulls himself up on everything. Including Yellow Cat, who is not amused by this new development.
• McMoose was trying to toilet train the cats. Apparently, there exists a product that claims to do exactly this and this product actually has decent reviews, so we tried it out. Black Cat took to it superbly. Yellow Cat...well...let's just say he doesn't care for the concept. Ah, if only. But I have to admit, I would feel like I'm living in the house from Meet the Parents.