10 Years

One of my favorite things is when our eyes meet

-in admiration, in disappointment, in awe, in amusement, in love-

over something our children are doing or saying or feeling.

It's a moment of mutual understanding, when I couldn't feel closer to any other person on earth. An understanding felt just between us for these little creatures we created together.

From beginning to end, and all the stuff in the middle, we are doing, feeling, creating, and loving it together.

The Circle of Life

Growing up we never lived near my grandparents, except for a four year stint in Kentucky.  Whether it was conscious or not, I was raised on the idea that you went where life took you as opposed to picking a place and then looking for a life. I don't think one notion is necessarily better than another, but it does play into how I envisioned my future.  Of course, I would love to live near either of our families but Dan, even though he didn't move much as a child, agreed that we would go where the job was.  I never imagined that we would live here, where we do, near my parents.

Finding out that we were moving to Dallas last year was so surprising.  Our home found us (because that's what homes do), a mere two minutes from my parent's original house here.  That means that we were somewhat familiar with the area seeing as how over the last 5 years, we have visited these streets, parks, stores, etc.

I have found myself, on more than one occasion, having deja vu sort of moments.

Standing in the park.

It is 2001, the summer after my first year of college.  Dan has brought me "home" to Texas and to meet my parents.  Texas isn't home to me.  I don't know anyone or have any friends.  I'm not familiar with the roads, the stores, the anything.

We are doing some fun things while he is here.  We drove to Arkansas to visit my sister, Chandra's family.  We went boating, took walks.

And we fed the ducks at the neighborhood park.

 I'll be a monkey's uncle if Dan doesn't look to be 14 years old in this one.

And now, 2011, I am standing in the same park as my children scale the jungle gym, scream down the slides, and swing on the swings.

I drive past the park and the lake every morning as I drop Ava at school and see the colored sky peeking over the trees and I am back where we started.



In the mall.

It is later that same summer of 2001.  Dan is back.

This time we are wandering the jewelry stores looking at diamond rings.

And now 2011, we are taking the kids to the play place

 and going for pleasure rides on the escalators.

To someone who grows up and lives in the same place or grows up knowing where they'll be, this may be ordinary.  But to me, feeling that out of the entire world to choose from, the fact that we are right here, right where we started is... weird?  crazy? ironic? coincidental? fate?  Fill in the appropriate word because I haven't figured it out.


There is one place though, from that summer of 2001, that we hadn't been back to.  And unlike the others, it didn't hold a great spot in either of our memories.  I couldn't remember anything about Six Flags except one ill-fated bench.

Six Flags was the last stop on our itinerary before Dan returned to Utah after his first initial visit.  His flight would leave early the next morning.  As the afternoon turned to evening, and I started to anticipate his departure, I got kind of crazy.  I didn't want him to go, but mostly I didn't want him  to go without giving me the ultimate commitment.  I knew that he was the one for me.  And I had told him that a time or two before. He said he needed more time.

There on the bench, near the end of the day, I started to cry. Really, really, really cry.  I begged, pleaded, tried to convince him to just tell me that I was it, I was the one for him. Again, he told me he needed more time.

And that was the very last thing I wanted to hear.  I was either right for him or I wasn't.  It was either now or not.  And I wanted now. In truth, I never would have broken up with him, it was just that I could not imagine anything more torturous than loving him a few more months (years?) and then have him decide that he didn't want me.  I may have been young, but I knew my own mind.  I knew that by putting it all out there as I had done, I was literally setting my little thumping heart into his hands.  The longer he made me wait, the more I thought I would die.

And that is how I sounded on the bench at Six Flags.  Like I was dying.  Multiple people stopped to see if I was okay.  Multiple people asked me if I needed help with my boyfriend and gave him the stink eye.  I really wanted to say "Yes, please beat this boy into submission and tell him that he must be mine forever!"  But all I could do was say, "I'm okay" between hysterical sobs.

Pathetic is probably the most accurate descriptor.  I look back now and still feel bad for myself.  I was so young and felt so scared and vulnerable and I just  needed that reassurance so badly.  But he wouldn't give it to me.  We left Six Flags.  We went back to my parents house where I resumed the pleading and sobbing on my parent's couch into the wee hours of the morning.

And then he left.


According to him, it only took a few days of being apart and he was sure, I was the one.  Given the details I have just described above, that is obviously an absolute miracle.

This Thursday we will have been married for ten years.  And yesterday we went to Six Flags to take care of some unfinished business.

We got there when it opened.  We rode a roller coaster.  We ate some lunch.  We rode a few more rides.

Then we found a bench.  We shared a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich. Back and forth we passed it, biting the cookie and licking the ice cream, until one last glob sat in Dan's fingers.

"You aren't going to eat the last bite?" I questioned.

"I was.  But I think I owe you." he said. And he dropped the last bite into my mouth.

A month and a half ago

Max turned two, it was Halloween, and then all of the sudden November was gone and had taken half of December right along with it.

We did have a little family party for Max before things go too far, complete with cake, ice cream, and presents.

But since the December days are disappearing, I figured today was the day for his two year pictures, even if it was so cloudy there was no light to bounce off of his beautiful blue eyes.

They are done, though, which is more than I could say yesterday.

Here is my gigantic baby, in all his two year old glory.


I'm sure you will notice the presence of Buzz Lightyear and it should also be noted that under his sweater he is wearing a Toy Story pajama shirt he wasn't going to remove without a brawl.

His classic furrowed brow:

I must point out the size of his hands in this one.  He reminds me of a little puppy with gigantic paws.

America's got skillz

I am aware that this post is not exactly holiday-relevant.  But yesterday was Pearl Harbor Day and when your shy baby asks you to film her singing and she picks a non-holiday song in December, you just go with it.

Veteran's Day was last month, and for the occasion, Ava learned the song I'm Proud to be an American at school.  She had some trouble remembering the words.  About the time she was coming home singing and asking for help with what she couldn't remember, I was finishing up the book "Unbroken" for book club.

The story is of an Olympic runner, Louie Zamperini, who ends up as a Japanese prisoner of war during World War II.  The book was so eye opening for me.  I didn't pay much attention in history class, so embarrassingly enough, this book taught me a lot of things about the war that I probably already should have known. Confession: I once received a detention in high school for saying, "I hate you" to my history teacher. 

I turned the pages as fast as I could read them, though, and with awe and horror and respect and shock I made my way through the book and then passed it on to my dad, a  history buff I knew would appreciate it.  He then passed it to my mom and between the three of us we had the nice satisfying discussion I was hoping for at book club, that for some reason, just didn't happen for me.

If you haven't read it, I would highly recommend it.  I have an new appreciation for America and mostly for those who have and do sacrifice everything for it.  And it's not new but I have added Louie's shining testament of Jesus Christ and His ability to heal every kind of wound to my own.

So as I helped Ava remember the words,

I'm proud to be an American, 

where at least I know I'm free. 

I won't forget the men who died,

who gave that right to me.

And I'll gladly stand up next to you

and defend her still today.

Because there ain't no doubt, 

I love this land.

God Bless the USA

they absolutely took on a new meaning and I will never sing that song the same way. I think books like this should be required reading for life.

And for your listening pleasure, here is Ava and I'm Proud to be an American.

You too may find the words take on new meaning, especially with Ava's creative interpretations. 

My favorites include "...defend her skills today..."  and "...there ain't no doubt, I love this maaaan!"

Just Call Me Scrooge

I totally fudged some of the applications to be a mom.  Somewhere in there I know it asked whether you had the ability to lie to your children. You know, for the purposes of teeth collecting, Easter basket leaving, and present giving. But lying has never been my forte.  Not that I can't see the occasional benefits of a fib or two, I just have a really hard time doing it successfully.  Mix that with feeling like my kids should always be able to trust what I tell them is the truth, and we have one conflicted mother who really does want to her kids to be swept up in the fun and magic of childhood yet doesn't want them feeling like they were lied to down the road.

So where does that leave poor Santa Claus?

Am I the only mother who doesn't really enjoy perpetuating her children's belief in things that don't exist?  Sure, I'll do it, cause it's fun and magical and you're only a kid once, right? And it's in my job description.  But I kind of just scrape by.  I don't go the extra mile or anything. We haven't made reindeer food. The Tooth Fairy needs a reminder app and I eat Santa's cookies grudgingly (ok, not really on that last part).

So what about this Elf on the Shelf character?

source

Have you heard of him?  He sits on the shelf taking notes and reports to Santa each night.  And when he flies back in the early morning from the North Pole he sits in a new spot just to make sure the kids know that he's doing his job.  Sometimes he does crazy stuff, like dump out your oatmeal or unroll all the toilet paper.

As you might have guessed I have not rushed out to buy this extra, non-essential, Christmas accessory.

Ava, however, swimming blissfully in Childhood Magic, caught the Hallmark Channel's animated version of the Elf on Shelf this past week.  And then, by her own device and design, came up with this:

Chipee, the Elf on Our Shelf

She wondered if maybe he might be magic, too.

"I don't know," I told her.

She went to bed.  I cleaned up.  The next morning she ran down and saw that Chipee had moved to the other end of the counter!  And then she wanted to know, "Did you move him, Mom?"

And there I stood at the crossroads.

Tell the truth or indulge my baby doll?

I thought about the previous night.  I had absolutely no recollection of moving him, but must have when I wiped down the counters.

So I did my best, and probably what most moms would have done (though surely minus some of the fanfare) and told her,

"I don't know how Chipee got over there!"

Dan came home from a business trip last night. I showed him Chipee.  I told him my hesitations and concerns, he patted my back and moved Chipee into the family room.  This morning when I woke Ava for school I was kind of excited. I told her, "Get dressed, let's go look for Chipee! He's not on the counter anymore!"

Her groggy face lit up like a thousand stars and she jumped right up.

We found him on the family room shelf.

"I think he is magic, Mom! He must have gone back to Santa last night! You didn't move him, did you, Mom?"

And without a second thought I said, "I didn't touch him."

 And it wasn't even a lie.

Advent!

Every year about this time I think,

Oh! I need to make that advent calendar!

But every year it's the day before December and there is no way I can/will whip out a crappy version of the idea in my head. I'd really like one that has a piece of the the nativity scene to pull out each day. It will involve a fair amount of work, so I don't want to make myself crazy. I think as part of my New Year's resolution, I will start the calendar in January. Then maybe it'll actually be done by next Christmas.

So instead, of letting another year pass, I am putting together a quickie version of another calendar I've been wanting. And if all goes well, next year, we will have both!

This one just involves 24 pretty little bags from Hobby Lobby hung up with clothespins on some yarn. Each bag will contain a paper with a Christmas activity to be done that day.

Do you have any family Christmas activities we should try?

Here is our list, in case you are looking for some ideas.

In no particular order (gotta figure that out before I stuff the bags, I guess):

Take a drive to see the lights

Drink hot chocolate

Put up our outdoor decorations

Eat snowman pancakes for dinner

Bake a treat

Read a holiday book before bed

Dan's work's kids Christmas party

Church Christmas Social

Go to the live Nativity

Set up our nativity

Wear crazy holiday socks to school

Have a holiday music dance party

Deliver Christmas goodies to the neighbors

Make a holiday craft (Honeycomb cereal snowflakes?)

Make family Christmas shirts

Make a gingerbread house

Pick a tag from the Giving Tree

Shop for the Giving Tree presents

Drop off the Giving Tree presents

Have a fire and watch a Christmas movie

Stuff, stamp, and mail Christmas cards

Celebrate our family's anniversary-go out to eat!

Read and act out the Christmas Story

Visit Santa at Bass Pro

***Edited to add a couple of photos and also mention the fact that I scrapped the pretty bags as soon as I opened the package and realized I would not be tolerating their glitter diarrhea. It was absurd, actually. All it took was a glance for 1,000 flecks of glitter to fall off and stick to everything in sight. I ended up cutting the tops off some brown lunch sacks and adding the numbers to the front. And I think I like it just as well.

Thanksgiving and the Zoo

Can you believe I didn't take one picture of Thanksgiving?

The day got off to a rocky start but once Dan and I let go of the idea of a "relaxing" holiday things sort of lined themselves up. Our relaxing Thanksgiving days are over, at least until our kids quit their whiny ways.

This year like all the others, really makes me remember just how excellent I have it. My life is good and when I try to list all the things I am grateful for it's eye opening.

Over the course of the last six days I saw license plates from Florida, then New Hampshire, Kansas, and then Kentucky (Fayette County, even). Quite the coincidence of you ask me. I couldn't help but collect them all in my mind and feel immense gratitude for the places my life has taken me and for all of the wonderful people I've met along the way.

Mom and I split up the responsibilities this time, and while it all turned out yummy, I think we kept ourselves running around enough that the camera never made it out of the bag.

Mom cooked at her house, and I at mine. Though we did have a mid morning rendezvous in my kitchen just to get the feel of cooking together.

At 2 o'clock my parents came over, with bounteous baskets of food and dishes and we had my brother's best friend and his wife and their two kids (who now live in Dallas) join us as well.

My cooking duties included the rolls, the mashed potatoes, the deviled eggs, and the strawberry jello.

I've made mashed potatoes so many times, they don't scare me. Deviled eggs? Nothin! Jello? I must confess I can hardly call myself Mormon because my last year's jello assignment never made it to the table; it never set up. Who can't make jello?Anyway, it was a leap of faith to give me that job again.

Really though, the rolls on Thanksgiving are kind of a big deal. And bread and I don't have the best relationship. But in a grand surprise I turned out some pretty fantastic rolls. One of our guests even said they were "the best rolls I've ever had!" and I didn't even have to fish for that compliment. I made 48 and they were going, going, gone! Once again I must pay homage to Pinterest.

As we were about mid-way through the meal, we realized that we totally forgot the stuffing. It never even got made. I think that might be a Thanksgiving sin, but honestly I don't think anyone missed it that much.

And then as we were clearing the plates, my mom pointed out that my jello, again, never made it to the table. Poor stuff, right in the fridge, jiggly as ever, waiting for its debut, that would never come.

Dan tried to be nice and eat some today but his nostrils flared when he put it in his mouth, so I know he doesn't really like it.

He did ask me to make more rolls tonight so I think I can forgive him.

And because a post is hardly a post without some pictures, here's a series from a perfect- weathered Day-before-Thanksgiving adventure at the zoo. The highlight of which, was probably Max's love affair with the goats. And as expected, there are way more pictures of the kids than there are of the animals. Who needs another picture of a capybara when you could have one of a Max? Or an Ava? Or a Luke?

Max squared

Waiting for the giraffe to be let out

Once he was, he showed his excitement by running

It was like watching in slow motion, so graceful

And then we got to the goats

Jumping for joy!

Twilight Zone

I usually don't go so long between posts but I think it might be because I am walking around in a sleep deprivation/Toy Story fog. That might sound like a weird form of torture, but it's actually not that bad, except for the fact that I am a bit... foggy.

And Max has been sick on top of his newborn-revisited sleeping habits and I am desperately trying to get at least part of the house put back together.

There is one more contributing factor to my general absence and confusion. And that would be the fact that truly weird things are happening around here. I am getting strange text messages. With links to strange websites.

My husband seems to be in some sort of confused state as well. Because those messages are from him.

I observe this scene with frequency,




which probably doesn't look that strange unless you can see what is on the computer screen.



One day I get a text like this: Let's wait.

The next day it's this with a link to some adorable puppies: Which one do you want?

A few months ago, we had a discussion (argument). It was so bizarre that I literally laughed and cried in a period of 5 minutes just out of emotional overload. Phrases were coming out of our mouths that I would have very seriously bet thousands (millions, if I had them) of dollars that we never would have said.

The whole thing is a blur and how it came down to this, no one could know. All that's really important is that the last words were these:

"You can go to Europe and I will get my dog!"

Now, if you had to guess, which one of us said those words?

That's right, based on the shock I already mentioned, those were words straight out of Dan's mouth. Yeah, it doesn't make sense to me either, especially if you remember back when we got the trampoline and explained that Dan NEVER wanted a dog.

Well, pigs were flying that night!

In all honesty, I never thought I would be arguing to not get a dog. And I never thought Dan would be arguing for one. I realize that my capacities are pretty much tapped out at the moment and the amount of work and love that a dog needs are more than I can do. Dan, on the very weird other hand, sees the benefit for the kids and is willing to put in the work that I can't. Maybe. That's why we're confused over here.

To dog or not to dog, that is the question.

I love that Dan is even considering this. Not because I want a dog right now, but because I know that he is really thinking of the kids.

And in case you are wondering, I didn't forget about our argument. Europe plans are currently underway.

Lately and Do You Believe in Miracles?

Man, I know I already said that I hate Daylight Savings, but I still do. The kids are still waking up early and the dark evenings are making me feel like it should be bedtime at 6 pm. Actually tonight we decided, "The kids are waking up so early, we might as well put them down early"

Why hello there, 6:30 bedtime!

Ava has been such a great version of herself these days. She doesn't seem to mind school and her reading is improving so much. I went up to the school to volunteer for the Turkey Trot yesterday. Physical activities are definitely not her forte. It's hard for me to watch sometimes, because those types of physical activities always came naturally and were a great source of enjoyment and accomplishment for me as a child. Sometimes I worry that she's missing those things. But as a stood on the side of the track cheering for the kids and watching as they ran/walked lap after lap, a girl walked up to me and stopped.

"Whose mom are you?"

"I'm Ava's mom"

"Oh, Ava! She is my friend. She was in my class last year. Ava is so kind."

It came to me then that if I could pick one quality or talent for my daughter to possess, that would probably be my first choice.

She is so in love with dolphins and horses right now. She draws picture after picture and writes book after book featuring both animals.

Luke is also growing and blooming. His writing skills have just exploded. He loves to "do homework" right alongside Ava. Which usually entails him writing the alphabet or numbers to 20. I love to hear him work because he generally sings the song and writes letter by letter.

"ABCD...E! E comes next!"

Then he writes it down and begins again pointing to each letter as he sings, "ABCDE...F! F comes next!" And then he writes his F. And he does the same thing with his numbers.



He pronounces zero, "cereal" which he explained is aptly named because cheerios have the same shape as the number.

It's amazing how helpful it is to have your child be able to get themselves entirely ready, which is something he can now do. At night when I kiss him goodnight I want to hug him and squeeze him and tell him that I appreciate the fact that he gets himself dressed, that he doesn't care if the seams on his socks are crooked, that he wears whatever is in his drawer, and that he doesn't need ice in his water to be able to drink it. Of course I love my other child who doesn't fit that same bill, but Luke sure is nice to have around.

Max just had his two year old post right down there and he continues to run me right out of patience and energy. I wanted to take his pictures today but he somehow managed to get a gigantic scrape on his face so we'll have to postpone them a while.

The best thing he's doing these days is saying, "To Amon!" Which took me a few days to realize was his version of "To infinity and beyond!" My other favorite is "fruit poops" (fruit loops) which along with me desperately missing Ava's 2 year old version of movies, ("boobies") probably means that I should still be in fourth grade because I, apparently, still have a soft spot for bathroom humor.


Dan and I have been squeaking by on a little less sleep and staying very busy. I've been working steadily on house projects, and I can't see an end in sight. Which, in a way, is good because I enjoy them. But I also enjoy checking things off my list, so actually finishing something would feel good right about now, instead of juggling 50 different, half way done things.

Earlier this week after Luke was at preschool, Max and I headed to my parents to make use of my dad's table saw. As I drove I organized my ideas and wrote in my mind, which is generally what I find myself doing when I'm alone with my thoughts. I had something really good going. As soon as I could I needed to write it out so I wouldn't forget it. But now I cannot remember what it was.

I drove down the two lane road, cars in front and cars in back, at about 45-50mph. Cars were coming at the same rate and frequency in the other direction. And then I can hardly explain what happened next. A truck was coming towards me in the other lane. I watched the giant ladder it was carrying start to sway. It went back and forth and then like a sideways pendulum and was coming straight at me. As I said, there were cars in front and behind me, this truck and ladder to my left and a steep drop off to my right. And the fact that it all happened in the space of about 2 seconds, left me no options. I am not exaggerating when I say that I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, saw a close-up of the metal ladder directly on the other side of the windshield right before I closed my eyes, and thought, I am going to die.

But the impact never came. I have no way to explain how that ladder not only didn't crash right into my face, it didn't even touch my car. I looked up in time to see it hit the road right behind me in my rear view mirror. It might seem like a lucky bounce or maybe I overreacted, but I know differently.

I was immediately overcome and tears rolled down my cheeks like rain. I have never felt so close to dying. And I also can't adequately explain how I felt. There was shock and fear and relief and gratitude. Mostly gratitude to a watchful Father in Heaven.

I pulled up and ran into my dad's arms and tried to explain the whole thing. All I know now is that I am alive and I am supposed to be, because there is no physical explanation for what happened.

It's probably not right to shove this personal and spiritual experience right in next to fruit poops, but that is life. At least that is my life. There really isn't much separation between the facets of my life. This regular, old, crazy life of ups and downs and ins and outs that I am feeling extra grateful for right now.

It's not always this bad but,

let me just say that I hate Daylight Savings.

Coincidentally (or not) Max started waking up at the booty crack of dawn a week or so ago. We went through this with Luke a few times. He'd wake up early (4:30am, anyone?) for weeks at a time. There wasn't much we could do about it but endure. And then, just like that, he'd resume his regular sleep schedule and we would all be happy again.

So Max wandering into our room at 5:00am last week, really only made us groan and grit our teeth as we planned to wait it out.

And then Daylight Savings came along. We tried to compensate by skipping naps and staying up late, but to no avail.

So Sunday morning when it felt like the day should have been nearly over, we looked at the clock, saw it was 8:30am, and I wanted to cry.


A few days out, Max is up around 5:30am, the other two are kicking by 6:00am and Armageddon hits by 6:15am. Just because they're all awake doesn't mean they're all well rested and/or happy.

The only thing that makes up for it is the fact that from 5:30 to 6:00, before the other kids come down to complain that they cannot stand to watch it one more time, I can put Toy Story on for Max,


and this is what I see before I sneak back to my bed to squeeze out the last few drips of sleep in preparation for what feels like a 18 hour day.

2

We haven't celebrated or done his birthday photo shoot yet, but as I planned what I would write about my little dumpling turning two last weekend, I was struck with the phrase, "Say it ain't so!" I was thinking about how I really didn't want him to grow up.

Then I went to Goodwill to find a few Halloween costume accessories. And I happened to find a perfect bike for Luke. Have you ever heard a gigantic 1.99 year old wail over the fact that his brother is getting a bike and he is not? No? I don't think any of the patrons or employees had either, based on their facial expressions.

I started pushing my cart around looking for where you drop off donations, and was going to ask the cashier but could tell right away they weren't interested in reselling any screaming children.



That boy is stubborn. The climbing-out-of-the-crib soap opera continues. We moved on to the doorknob contraption, which only took him about 3 minutes to totally disassemble. Now we are back to the jump rope.

I know, I know, "Give it up!" you say. "He has probably outgrown his nap," you say. But he hasn't. He's still crazy tired in the afternoon and sleeps for about 3 hours once he finally stops fighting it. I'm not about to give it up. For him it's not even about the sleep, it's about getting his way. I will win this war! I can't make him sleep, but there will be quiet time in our house. Even if I can hear him yelling from down here.

"Buuuuzzzzzzzzzz!"


"Woooooooeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy!"


Buzz and Woody, as in Buzz Lightyear and Woody from Toy Story. The boy is absolutely obsessed. He loves Woody like Luke loves fans.

He takes any opportunity to sneak into the garage, get in the van, and push the button on the sun visor to raise and lower the garage door. Which will all be fine and good until he drives the car into the kitchen.



Like some sort of subconscious reaction, when we say our family prayer each night, he takes his cue to tackle people. And we might have a future offensive lineman on our hands, because he can take you down! Really, and especially if your eyes are closed. It's like you never saw it coming. Now I feel like I have to pray with one eye open.

He has strong opinions about what songs we listen to in the car. Fireflies is #1 on his billboard.

He has words for everything and insists that you repeat what he says so he can verify that a) you are paying attention and b) you understand what he said. The problem with that is, we can't understand half of what he is talking about. And he lets us know that he is angry about it in some very demonstrative ways.

If you cross him, which you are likely to do if, you don't understand him, you tell him "no", you don't give into his never ending requests for food (samich! ot dog! abble!), etc, etc, etc. then you can watch the anger flash across his face while his eyes scan the vicinity for things to mess up.

When he's angry he rakes everything off of the table, he runs for any open container of liquid to dump it on the floor, he searches for things to throw.

Maybe not wanting him to grow up, isn't quite right. Getting past the two's seems like a really good game plan.

Have I painted a negative picture of my little love bunny? I hope not. Because he is literally one of the cutest little people I've ever met.

He loves to do anything the big kids are doing. He's been getting on and off the trampoline by himself for a few months now. And he can do most of the stuff Luke does at the play ground.

He loves nursery and talks about the "bubbles" there, all week.

He calls Ava, "Avy" and it just about makes my heart turn into jelly every time.

He loves his daddy, and he loves me too. I'd even venture to say that I'm not in second place anymore. Or maybe it's a really close second.

He says "you" for "I love you".

He gives hugs and kisses that knock our socks off.

He loves looking at books.

He loves animals.

His laugh is infectious!

He loves construction sites and eagerly anticipates seeing a "deeger" (digger).

Coloring has become one of his favorite activities.

He loves, loves, loves to play and wrestle with the his siblings.

And for every ounce of stubborn anger, he compensates with a pound of sweetness.

See, not wanting him to grow up seems an appropriate reaction to the summary above, right?. So which is it? I don't know, grow up? Stay little? I'm thinking I better just try to enjoy the ride.




My house kind of looks like it threw up right now. I'm redoing the toy room so everything in there has been relocated to the living room so I could paint the walls. Tons of frames are stacked on the dining room table waiting for paint, furniture is sitting in strange places waiting to be put back, sold, or put in the garage.

In the midst of all this, I propped a large mirror up against the wall. It got moved here and there and somewhere along the way my mom and I commented how awesome that mirror was. I seriously loved it. It had a very simple frame and it was old and heavy. It's reflection and light was so beautiful and my mom told me that it was because it was very old (she gave it to me) and that you can't hardly buy mirror like that anymore, it's glass was so thick. Notice my use of the past tense.

October 29, I heard a crash from where I stood in the kitchen. I ran to the toy room expecting to see the ironing board collapsed, instead I saw this.

My favorite, beautiful, antique, gigantic mirror shattered,


courtesy of my delightsome, bright, adorable, spirited 2 year old. "Happy Birthday!" I thought, "In honor of your day I am going to let you live!"

Just kidding.

I was a little sick about the mirror for a few days, though. I was glad that Max wasn't hurt. The whole situation could have been avoided, if not for my carelessness.


Enjoy the ride. I really couldn't love my little Max anymore than I do right now.


I may be run ragged by him and it goes against all common superstitions, but I feel lucky everyday to have that boy for a son. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to feel that way for the next 7 million years.