Posts Tagged ‘I am two!’

Let’s get the awkward part out of the way and admit that Mama did a really crappy job of keeping the Internet abreast of all your one-year-old antics. Which… part of me is grateful for because life with three kids and a new house is no joke. We are constantly busy, constantly running and any down time I have right now is way better spent sitting on the floor in a heap of cars and trains with you snuggled in my lap. It also makes me sad because WOW did this year fly by at breakneck speed and I just want to hold tight to the little person you are right now. I love having a log of all the adorable and frustrating things your brother was doing at this age so I sort of feel like a failure for not keeping it up as I know all too well these moments that seem so sharp and unforgettable now will fade with time.

So! How do I sum of a year full of amazing you? Let’s start with your favorites:


You’re favorite books: {Firstly, let me just say how grateful I am that you love stories. Getting Keaton to sit for books was impossible until he was 4 and now both of your siblings prefer to go off on their own and read to themselves so having another reading buddy is awesome.} You love; But Not the Hippopotamus, Each Peach Pear Plum, Ten Little Ladybugs, Goodnight Gorilla, 1,2,3’s with Charley Harper, Bear Takes A Trip, Wild Things, and I Love You Goodnight. You have to have 3 books before nap and bed and every time we get to number three you say “Laaaaaast book, Okaaaaaaay?…”

Favorite foods: Olives {the Felland is strong with this one}, beef sticks, spaghetti, fruit snacks, starburst, cake, berries and noodles. You have a major sweet tooth and I love that you change your voice when asking for a treat to see if my answer changes. You start with a whisper “a starburst please?” then, “A starburst? “a STARburst please?”, “starBURRRRRST?”

Favorite drink: Juice. Juice. Juice. JUICE! I only give you one or two small cups a day and you POUND them. You’re going to be tons of fun in college, I can already tell.

Favorite things: You love your blanket and nuk. So many times I go to look for you and start panicking when I can’t find you only to discover you between the couch and the coffee table laying with your blanket over your head. “Ezra! What are you doing?” Then a muffled, “I SNUGGLIN’!” Like, Duh, wasn’t that obvious, mom?

Favorite songs: ABC’s, Itsy-Bitsy Spider, and your very favorite, “What Does the Fox Say” WHY GOD, WHY? {Well, I know why, because it was on a Glee compilation CD your dad made for me and Rowan hates that song so Keaton would sing it to annoy her and you loved the big reaction it got so it quickly became your favorite, much to our chagrin.}

Favorite Games: Buttons, Ring Around the Rosie and the one where you and your brother run and chase each other screaming at the top of your lungs must be super fun because no matter how many times mama yells at you two to JUST STOP you guys keep at it.

Favorite Place: OUTSIDE! You have loved outside since you were a baby and every minute not spent out in the great outdoors is a minute wasted. You also love going to Grandma and Grandpa’s and to the park. You also love to go in Rowan’s room, but that’s a bit of a sore spot for your sister since you also like to destroy her Lego sets and steal her American Girl accessories. If I could count the times I’ve said “No-no rowan’s room” to you over the last 6 months it would, well, it would be a lot.

Favorite shows: I will say in the last couple of weeks you’ve started to branch out and begrudgingly allow some Daniel Tiger or Curious George but for a solid 5 months the only thing you’d sit for was Elmo’s World DVDs and sometimes Sesame Street because Elmo makes frequent appearances. Elmo is your everything. Rowan was like this and it drove me nuts but I’ve grown to love the furry red guy and know that all too soon you’ll become obsessed with Star Wars and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Amazing accomplishments and Firsts:

You are fast. Super fast. Like I have to legit run my hardest to catch you.

You are pretty fearless at the playground. I’m sure this comes because you have older siblings but you climb high and fly down the big slides. I see the look of horror in the eyes of the parents and grandparents of other toddlers that I would dare let you go on the big equipment but eh. You know what you’re doing and I’m not going to stop you so I just smile back at them.

You drink out of a cup like a boss. I don’t want to name names but 2 of your siblings couldn’t hold a damn cup without spilling it spectacularly until they were 4. Sometimes I still don’t even trust Keaton with an open cup. You might dribble a little but otherwise you do awesome with a big cup and prefer to use them over sippys.

You love to stack blocks. And knock them over. And stack them again. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I love how you say pumpkin, pronounced punkaaan. This is apropos of nothing, it just makes me really happy. If you had a toddler resume I would put this under one of your strengths.

You can count to 20; sometimes correctly, sometimes 1,2,3,5,7,8,9,15,18, 20!! You love to count.

You’re starting to learn your colors.

You handle the insane amount of car-time like a pro. From waiting in the parent pick up line to hauling your sister to and from dance, we easily spend 5-6 hours in the car a week and while you do get grumpy sometimes, it’s nothing that a little “Fox Say” and a fruit snack won’t fix.

Your language/communication is great. You still put “a” in front of almost everything. You speak in 3-5 word sentences, are starting to use pronouns correctly and you are very good about voicing your wants/opinions. This is a double-edged sword because you think just because you know how to correctly ask for chocolate you feel you should receive that chocolate every single time the spirit moves you and yes, son, in a perfect world that is how life would operate but out here in the real world, it’s just not how it works.

Some struggles, or UNfavorites we’ve experienced…

You’re a hitter. Not a hurty one… you don’t do it out of aggression, you do it solely for the reaction ad mostly you focus this behavior on your brother. We calmly but swiftly separate you and firmly go through the “Hands are not for hitting” spiel so then you’re like, fine “Sorry, Mama” here’s a fake hug that I don’t mean and then you kick because kicking is not using your hands, then we calmly but firmly go into the “Feet are not for Kicking” speech to which we get another half-hearted apology and fake hug and then you proceed to stick your tummy out as far as it will go to push with it and then we maybe not so calmly remove you and get a little screechy about NOT HURTING OUR FRIENDS WITH ANY PART OF OUR BODY, OK?!!! I know this is just a stage and consistency is key but it’s driving me BANANAS.

Related: You throw things when you’re mad. I… don’t like this at all.

You have trouble warming up to people. When new or unfamiliar people try to greet you, you hide behind me and shout ALL DONE until they quit looking at you. It is somehow very offensive for a stranger to say hello and let me just tell you it’s more than a little embarrassing when a cashier or friend of mom’s comes up to us and says “Oh he’s so adorable, look at your big blue eyes!” and you screech ALL DONE at the top of your lungs at them as they step back and look horrified. Rowan was very friendly to anyone, Keaton was clingy and a little shy but always sweet, you…. you… well, you are many wonderful things but sweet is not a descriptor I would often use for you.

I know these few paragraphs don’t do justice to the little person you have grown into the last year. One minute I’ll look at you and you’ll seem so small and the next, it’s like you magically stretch and you seem so giant to me. Sadly I know there are already things I’ve forgotten over the months. Just like with your big siblings, I sometimes close my eyes tight when I hold you and say “remember this, remember this moment right now” because I so badly want to stop time and keep you small and precious but the wish is fleeting… we love watching you grow and learn and explore all the things you’re curious about. We love seeing you try to imitate your big siblings, sometimes successfully, others not so much. We love seeing you smile and laugh, which you make us work for but oh, is it ever worth it. Mostly we just love you, Ez. And we wish you the very happiest of birthdays and an adventurous, marvelous year of Two.

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Bill: Spent a lot of quality time with us, as he took a five day holiday weekend. I know what you’re thinking: Poor guy. And you’re totally right. Think about going from your cozy, quiet office where you can work and drink coffee and hear your own inner monologue in peace, to a place where little dictators get up early and Demand. More. Fishy crackers. And cereal. And can you just get me some milk while you’re in the kitchen? And then wipe my butt? And help me change my doll’s outfit 487 times before noon? If it wasn’t for the nasty, awful cold he contracted in the last 24 hours, I think he’d be excited to be back to work today.

Side Note: Husband if you give me your cold I will murder you. MURDER YOU. With something pointy. But not too pointy as there should be a significant amount of pain before the murdering is done.

Me: Possibly committing a homicide and researching school options. We toured two more schools last Wednesday, one of which we liked (but is way across town) and one that we didn’t (which is of course very close to us, for baby jesus hates me). Afterward Bill and Keaton and I went to Rowan’s school to surprise her with a lunch visit and…I got more confused. You guys, she seems really happy there. She was so excited to show us off to her schoolmates and at recess she had a whole group of kids playing a fun game, with another group asking her to play hockey. It was so sweet. And I don’t want to uproot her but GAH I just don’t think the learning environment is the best.

Outside of that, I’ve seriously spent the last 5 days non-stop eating. After our traditional stop in at Bill’s Aunt and Uncle’s for the world’s most awesome Bloody Mary, we went to my mom’s for a feast. We are NOT crazy Black Friday people {JENNIFER} and remembered that all the leftovers were at my moms so we packed up and Surprise, Mom! We are here to eat your food. Then on Saturday, to congratulate ourselves on blowing through all of Keaton’s birthday and over half of our Christmas lists we went to a fancy restaurant and ate a ridiculously expensive meal. We do not go out to eat often; we’re not a Applebee’s or TGIF or Ruby Tuesday sort of people. We might take the kids to a hole in the wall burger place or breakfast spot but we save up all our entertainment funds and then splurge. We rarely eat steak at home so that’s always my go-to but I got adventurous and tried the ahi tuna and walleye special and nomnombutterynom it was fabulous. Plus. There were giant martinis involved.

Rowan: Has been doing phenomenally. Ever since we started the goal writing from Tools of the Mind each day, she has become so much more responsible for her own behavior. She’s certainly no angel but when she does act out she is so much more reflective about what the better choice to make is and she corrects her behavior and moves on instead of tantruming for 2 hours or just being surly all day. I feel like I have my daughter back and that is just the best feeling.

I can’t discount Occupational Therapy as a help to this as well. When we had Rowan tested for SPD, they did a number of motor function tests that we were surprised to see Rowan flunk, and to be honest I thought they were kind of just looking for things to pick at. But when they demonstrated where she should be at this age, I was floored- the girl has no upper body strength and was completely overcompensating by using her legs for everything. This is caused in part by a moderate vestibular disorder, which in her case basically means that when she looks up she loses her relationship with the ground, with gravity. It causes really poor coordination when she tries to cross her mid-line and explains why she couldn’t petal a trike until she was nearly 5 and why she is so cautious on a playground, preferring to organize and oversee as opposed to doing. It also causes her to not feel the sensation of being dizzy like you or I would, which makes a ton of sense. When tested Rowan could spin and spin and spin and when they checked her eyes for dizziness? Nada. She’d get up and walk just find. These are small little quirks that can be corrected with minor conditioning but explain a lot about why the kid was so frustrated and acting out but not able to verbalize why.

One of the biggest blessings in helping her normalize this has been her comp dance class. They work her hard in there and she is gaining so much coordination and strength in her upper body from the dances and stretching. She absolutely loves the class and most of the time she works her butt off. Because she started late and because she does have gross motor quirks, we have to practice a ton at home. Which…she doesn’t love as much. On the up side it has taught her the value of working hard for something and that is a lesson a kid needs to figure out on their own.

When she practices hard all week, her teacher makes a big deal out of how well she is doing. If not? I get yelled at. Internet, I had this same teacher growing up and I’m still scared of her. I was a sensitive kid and only lasted about 3 months in her class before I dropped out. Rowan, who is scared of nothing, absolutely loves her. So I am the one having anxiety dreams the nights before I have to take her. Like oh my god did I practice hard enough? Can I do a better Russian jump? I still can’t do the splits and Bill is all: Wife. Stop being crazy. It is a class for five year olds. Not neurotic 30 year olds. Still though. I break into a sweat when she makes direct eye contact with me.

Keaton: Is two. Two. 2. Only two. A little itty bitty two year old. That is two. Have I mentioned I have a two year old? That is full of two-y-ness? Because someone *coughBillcough* keeps referring to him as three or almost three which is entirely and utterly and fantastically ridiculous as he won’t be that other, higher number until Saturday at 11:13am. That’s like… way over 4 days away. Why is he AGING HIM, Internet? HE’S JUST A BABY, GODDAMMIT.

I’m sorry I said goddammit.

But still. A baby.


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You guys know what this means, right? Hair cut tomorrow. BOO. It especially sucks because I’m completely in love with Keaton’s hair right now except for the small fact that the kid can’t see shit. He walks around with his head cocked back because if he doesn’t he constantly runs into things. And gets blood-gushing fat lips. Undesirable.

I’m going in there with the idea of just shaping it up and giving his eyes some less shady real estate on his face but when you ask for a bang trim on a boy with long hair you know what you’re really asking for? A mullet. Now I may let this boy dress in tutus and put sparkly headbands and barrettes in his hair but even I have a line I won’t cross and that is the line into Mullet Town.

Now if the idea of this sweet face being framed by a mullet isn't disturbing enough, here is a picture of him dipping his broccoli in spaghettios. You're welcome!

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Last night Erica and her boyfriend Ian came over for a grown-ups only dinner. The kids love when “Cousin Erica!” comes to visit so I promised them they could stay up long enough to show her their jammies and give her a hug goodnight. Which they did, but only after each performed a dance solo for them, and then as I was ushering the buggers up the stairs my mom called with this question pertaining to her computer: “How do I turn it on?!” I was in the middle of explaining that there was this round thing called a power button in the back corner when Keaton, who was attempting to climb into his bed, did a magnificent miscalculation of hand placement on the bed rail and instead smashed his face forcefully and directly into it.

He’s not really one to freak out when he gets hurt, definitely falling on the typical boy OUCH THAT WAS FUNNY IMMA DO IT AGAIN side of things but this time he immediately started crying and when I pulled his fingers from his mouth blood literally shot out all over my shirt. I’m not squeamish around blood, but when it is pouring from your two-year-old’s face it’s sort of hard to remain calm. Bill was downstairs cooking and entertaining our guests and apparently didn’t hear my pleas of OMG!BILL!BLOOOOOOOOOOD%$#^&! Poor Keaton thought I was mad at him and started to whimper “I sorry I got blood on your shirt, mama” over and over again. It was the saddest, most pathetically cute thing he has ever uttered.

I had to keep repositioning the washcloth I was pressing over his lips because the blood was soaking through it so fast and when I had to wring it out, blood poured all down the front of him and all over the counter. By assessing the amount of blood I was sure both his lips had been ripped off but after things finally slowed down I could see it was just his bottom lip that had split wide open. I finally had the good sense to send Rowan to get Bill, who assessed the situation, determined everyone still had all their appendages and went to retrieve Keaton an ice pack. I read the kids a few stories while he held the ice on his lip and then had to be the one to inform him that he couldn’t have his Nuk for the night because it would make his lip bleed again. He was sad but handled it surprisingly well. Once the bleeding finally stopped I laid him down for the night.

A half hour later I went to check on him, hoping the ordeal exhausted him enough that he fell right asleep but he was up, crying softly about his ouchy lip. I gave the poor bugger some ibuprofen and a snuggle and he was quiet the rest of the night. The next morning he looked very similar to someone who had maybe been in a harmless bar brawl the night before. It actually looked way better than we thought it would.

Keaton vs. bed.

Bed wins.

Despite the bloody start, the night went well. We had fun hanging out with our friends, even when Bill and Ian insisted on watching obnoxious viral videos and the SNL skit that single-handedly RUINED John Hamm for me. Around 11:30 Erica thought they had better get going because she’d heard freezing rain was supposed to hit sometime after midnight. Bill and I went down to walk them out and upon reaching our driveway we discovered that the world had become one giant ice rink. Everything was covered with an insanely slick sheet of ice to which we quickly decided was 100 percent non-conducive with making it home alive.

So? SLUMBER PARTY! We didn’t permanent marker anyone’s face or freeze anyone’s bra…

But if we had it would have TOTALLY been Erica.

Ian had Bill and I take a rip-off of the Meyers-Brigg’s personality test {INFJ for me, ESFJ for Bill} and we talked and diagnosed one another with a multitude of personality quirks and disorders while we drank wine. A wholly different experience from my high school slumber parties where we spent most of our time devising plans for how we were going to sneak out to smoke cigarettes or sneak in our boyfriends, but a good time nonetheless. Unfortunately we don’t even have enough bedrooms for the people who currently reside in this house so at 2am we threw our guests two blankets and two pillows and had them duke out who got couch and who got floor. Pretty awesome hosts, aren’t we? Internet? You guys are welcome anytime. I hope you don’t mind blood.

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I think there were maybe 2.73 days this month where your nose hasn’t been pouring snot so you know what we did a lot of? THE SNUGGLE. We were so active all summer and fall that damn if it wasn’t nice to throw in a movie and wrap you in my arms under a blanket.

If I sit on Banky you say OUCH, like he’s one of your proper limbs. Sometimes you say it without even seeing me sit on it and son? That creeps mama out.

You’re still being a stinkerpants at bedtime. Some nights you’ll stay up for an hour and a half after we lay you down. I’m beginning to think you are the unlucky recipient of mama’s insomnia genes. Rowan is just like her dad, which is head+pillow=HONKSHOO, you not so much. I’m sorry, boy.

The biggest sticking point this month has been your continued refusal to pull your pants up after going to the bathroom. You are a totally independent peer, meaning you go to the bathroom on your own, pull your pants down, lift the toilet lids and do your business. Then all of a sudden you come shuffling around the corner with your pants around your ankles, weiner hanging out for all the world to see and you start shaking your butt as you sing “Mo-o-om, please pull up my pa-a-ants, I shakin my bo-oo-ty”. I’ve tried showing you how to pull them up, and also assisting while you do most of the work but you’re just not getting it. Most the time it leads to a comedy of errors where you manage to get your undies up but a vital piece is still sticking out the top and this starts a whole new version of the song about your weiner being stuck. Related: Boys are gross.

Not helping this is the fact that you’re definitely in the middle of a developmental leap which means more intense tantrums and an unwillingness to do anything without HEEEELLLLPPPPOHMYGODI’MDYING. Frequent phrases in our house “I can’t take my shoes off”, “I can’t pull my pants down”, “I can’t go potty by myself”, “I can’t walk up the stairs”, “I can’t get my own bite.” “I can’t breath on my own.” Most the time these are battles I just don’t have it in me to fight but just know, kid, that when mama’s arms are full of bags and papers and backpacks and snack bowls and sippy cups and a freaking partridge in a pear tree, it is never a good time to shout “CARRY ME”. Mama might quite literally explode right there on the spot.

You love to build with blocks which you’ve become quite adept at. You make roads for your cars to drive on and tall walls that your cars can very violently smash through.

Your attention span for books has taken a big leap. You now love to sit for longer stories and are beginning to track them better. You’ve also started parroting stories back to us which makes for some very interesting plot lines.

Can we talk about your hair? I love your hair. I guess that’s really all I have to say other than don’t listen to that mean old blue-hair at the voting place that called you a girl and then corrected herself immediately with a roll of the eye and a “Oh, I suppose that’s a boy”. I don’t care how old you are, a spade’s a spade and that lady was a big fricken spade. {You all know that here spade means asshole, right? Good.}

Your on-again off-again love affair with the church nursery has shifted back to off-again. For some reason wiggling in mom and dad’s arms and being told to SSSSSSHHHHHH 8,645 times in one hour is way more exciting than playing with bright shiny new toys while watching Dora episodes.

Now that we’re more than half done with the busiest class schedule ever, we’ve decided that we need to shave things down even more. Music class has always been one of your favorite things to do but since our summer session you’ve been struggling to get into it. The second and third sessions of last year you were the star pupil, always singing along and keeping a surprisingly perfect rhythm. The instructor would frequently use you as an example of how successful kids can be in the program. You had trouble with the summer session but I just chalked that up to you having to share my attention with your sister. I really thought things would come back into place this fall but unfortunately you’ve been completely disengaged, choosing to wonder off, ask for 17 drinks of water in 45 minutes and general misbehavery. The plan is to give you a break, skip the winter session and maybe join back up this spring.

You now have two little playmates that are actually boys. Between me, your sister, all your aunts, girl cousins and your love of tu-tus, we were a little worried you weren’t getting enough BOY time, but this fall we managed to find a couple of little fellas to hang with which has been great for you. You still love tutu’s though and that’s OK, son.

You probably won’t believe me {and LORD they certainly weren’t without their challenges} but I have LOVED your twos. The last eleven months have been filled with so much hilarity, so many shenanigans and so much in your face BOY. I have to be honest. Three is sort of scaring the bejesus out of me. I sort of want to stop time. But maybe after you learn how to pull your own pants up after going to the bathroom because that shit’s just getting old.

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I kind of dropped the Mostly Wordless Wednesday format a while back but in light of NaBloPoMo, decided it was time for a sequel. And in honor of such I am posting this picture of Keaton:

Best Vader EVER. Like the real Vader only more ticklish and also more likely to demand fruit snacks instead of a Jedi's head on a platter.

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I don’t want to make light of the recent flooding in southern Minnesota but I’m betting this Hot Wheels is thinking that maybe an onslaught of rain water isn’t so bad…

Keaton wasn’t super clear on whether the car was in the potty first or if it was lowered in after his… um, bidness. Not exactly up Shit Creek, but perhaps the Number One equivalent?

Happy weekending, Internet.

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Keaton Sir!,

Last month’s blah blah was put together in the haze of  Kindergarten which caused me to forget to document two very important accomplishments you had made that month. The first was that for a reward for a weeks worth of dry pants at naptime, you went to your first movie in the theater, Toy Story 3. We took Rowan to it the month before, thinking you were no where near ready, opting to leave you with Grammy. We decided to go for it after your dad got you copies of the first two toy stories, which you immediately fell in love with, giving us all a much needed break from that Lightning McQueen fellow. You are pretty sensitive to loud noises so I went in fully expecting to have to leave early, but nope! Your little frame wasn’t quite heavy enough to hold the folding seat down but after some maneuvering you settled right in with your very own popcorn and sprite. Now there is a scene in that movie that *I* was a little scared of, well, maybe not scared, but it was pretty intense and emotional and this is a freaking animated film for cripesakes. {Damn you Pixar, I still can’t listen to the music from Up without tearing up}. Again, I thought you might get worked up over it but it didn’t even seem to register with you. Your sister on the other hand, came over to sit on my lap during it which is funny because that girl is practically fearless.

The second accomplishment happened despite many attempts by your parents to foil your efforts. You see, Rowan is a wee bit territorial about her toys, which she likes to line up just so. {And by *wee bit* I mean CATASTROPHICALLY, DIABOLICALLY territorial. She will cut you. Or threaten nuclear warfare. Or both.} In order for us to avoid becoming a ravaged, war-torn household, we have always let Rowan claim free reign over our bedroom, with the door tightly shut behind her to keep your smashy little fingers away. This was a great, easy enough solution when you were one, but as your two year old brain evolved it wanted very much to learn how to open that, and other doors. So when you’d try to work the bathroom knob I’d shout, “LET MAMA DO THAT” or “OH HERE, LET ME HELP YOU”or “NO NEED TO BOTHER WITH THAT. LEAVE THE DOOR TO THE SERVANTS” (the servants, of course, being your father and I).

Alas. Progress was made despite our best efforts. Did you get up in the middle of the night to practice with only the pale glow of the nightlight aiding you? Did you secretly hire a doorknob turning guru? Did you bribe Grandma and Grandpa to teach you? IT WAS UNCLE BRIAN WASN’T IT? In any case, you now know how to open the majority of the doors in the house, which has led to a lot of the peaceful, beautiful, tranquil mornings, where the only sounds were of birds chirping, butterfly wings caressing the air, and if you listened very carefully, the gentle hum that emanated from the rainbow that had sprung just outside our patio door, to be interrupted by MOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMMOMMOMMOMMOM KEATON IS TOUCHING THINGS! GET HIM OUT OF HERE! GET HIM OUT OF HERE! GEEETTTTTHHHHIIIIIIIMMMMMMOOOOOOOUUUUUUTTTTTT. So GREAT JOB bud, on this new skill.

Moving on to this month.

You and I are having so much fun together. As I’ve stated many times before, the biggest challenge I have as a mom is balancing my time between two kids. Now, for 7.5 hours a day I don’t have to. And that is awesome. I’ve been so entrenched in considering the needs for two kids that having just one to keep tabs on and entertain honestly feels a little bit like a vacation. Your sister {GOD LOVE HER} wasn’t the best at the hustle and bustle of activity, so a lot of the time it was better for everyone that we just stay home.  Now that it’s just us though we’ve gone to your toddler class and music class together, the zoo, parks, play-dates and on countless trike rides around the circle.  I think the real test of this arrangement will be this winter when we will undoubtedly be more cooped up.

I am slowly noticing the threes creeping in to your daily repertoire of behaviors. Meaning that you can be kind of a jerk sometimes. It mostly takes the form of persistence in asking- nay- demanding treats or fruit-snacks (which are a treat in our house). You’ve adopted the notion that if you just say it louder we will change our minds.

“Mom, can I have a fruit-snack?”

“Sorry bud. Not now.”


“No, sir. You already had one. The rule is one a day.”

“Please! I’ll be polite!”

“I know you want one, pal. But not right now. One a day.”


no response from me


The pleading goes on until you are screeching PLEASE I’LL BE POLITE at the top of your lungs directly into my kneecaps, which you are gripping tightly between your mighty, angry, decided un-polite toddler fingers. In related news, I’m beginning to think you don’t quite get the concept of being “POLITE!” all that much. The big difference here is that I am not scared of your temper tantrums which is huge. When Rowan’s tantrums start I get so crestfallen because they go on and on and I know that most likely our whole day is shot. Yours however, though very intense are fleeting and once you’ve gotten it out of your system I know I’ll get my smiley boy back.

Another new thing? Wanting to eat the apple The Big Boy Way. Or as I like to call it, The Way That Gets Spit Out Chunks of Apple All Over the Damn Floor.

This last Monday you had your very last water babies class. It was sad because we had so much fun splashing in the pool with you for the last year and a half, but I could tell it was time to move on. You were pretty restless and bored for most of this session which made it more of a chore to take you than it had been during previous sessions. With the busy fall/winter schedule we have decided to forego more swimming lessons until the spring, at which time you will be old enough to go into level 1 with your sister- the big kids, non-parent class! I’m actually going to miss getting in the pool with you but maybe not so much miss you trying to pull my bathing suit top down, trying to set the twins free for all the other babies and parents to see.

We also decided to simplify things by pulling you out of dance. Though you did do a lot better the second half of September, we feel like you didn’t really get the concept of dancing in a uniform way with a group of kids. It probably would have come by mid-year but you were so much younger than everyone else in the class that we decided to hold off a year. We still shake our booties and practice your moves at home though.

Three is starting to peak its stubborn little head around the bend, and wow. I feel like Rowan was just three last week so I have no idea how we got here so fast. I suspect someone has been messing with my flux capacitor. I take comfort in knowing that we have so much time to spend together and that you are getting a healthy dose of socialization from preschool, which, yeah OK, probably amounts to a lot of arguments about who had what toy first and that was MY chair and step away from the toy car BEEYOTCH, but still.  You are absolutely rocking it. Almost every morning you ask if it’s a preschool day and if I say no you get so disappointed. There has not once been a teary drop-off but everyday when I come to pick you up you charge me with your arms spread almost as wide as the grin on your face. That face, that hug is the absolute best part of my week.

Unrelated photo shamelessly included because you are sacked out like a proper baby, hiding the giant boy you've become.

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A true, real life...

living, breathing...

Fashion disaster.

If your eyes aren’t burning they should be.

PS~ I thrice tried to write Keaton’s monthly blah-blah today and thrice was locked out of my site, so this is what you get for today. I’d try again but I’m pretty sure there would be a domestic between me and Hernando if things went south again and nobody wants to see his poor little black keys and wire-y innards splattered all over the floor.

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