Thursday, September 24, 2009

Happy Birthday, Little and Big Ones

I can't believe you're two, my little heart. Can't believe it. I wish SO badly I'd been able to see you this morning and wish you a very "happy birthday" -- I know you don't know the difference, but Mama does. This is one of those moments wherein it's very, very hard to work as I do, knowing I could be at home with you were things different. But they are not, so I will focus on the positive, knowing that one day I can explain to you why Mama was often gone as you grew up. And I hope you will be as proud of me as I am of you, knowing that everything I do, literally, is for the support and success of our family. Sleep is a small sacrifice for you. I did not go to bed last night as I slogged through dozens of papers so I could be with you this afternoon. It's been a long while since I did that, and I'm certainly feeling it now! But I've never had a better reason NOT to hit the hay. I hope you and Dada are having a wonderful dueling birthday, that he gave your bike this morning, and that he took pictures of you so I could share in the moment.

Ed, well, I know you don't really "care" about your birthday, especially since Reed "took" it over, but I DO know that you are excited because Reed is turning 2. You are a great father overall; you are so much closer to Reed than many fathers are to their children. He depends on you as much as he does me, and for that, you should be proud. These last two years have been probably been the biggest struggle of our lives, and we barely made it. I do love you, though I never say so, and I hope you have a memorable day with Reed today.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Trucks Are the New Mickey

They're back . . . in a big way. Photos forthcoming. Poor Mickey.

When You're Far Too Tired To Think or Write Straight . . .

...The photo blog! (Also
known as the lazy mama's
blog). Enjoy our recent
adventures.












Friday, September 4, 2009

An Olympian in the Making

We just got back from Reed's first ("trial") gymnastics class. He'll be going two mornings a week this month, and we'll see how it goes. It seems a fitting enterprise for someone who wants to hang on countertops (and appendages) and somersault off furniture. So far: R votes yes on walking on the balance beam, jumping into the foam pit, and hanging/swinging on the bars. Sitting on the rope swing? Not so much. I think we've just entered the next phase of "wow, raising kids is way more expensive than I thought" as we trade in former expenses for these sorts. Still, I think we'll find it worthwhile, and I'm excited that we can afford him various opportunities that might help him on a number of levels. If I can just find the kind of art class I want, we'll be all set. Good thing I just took on another class for October . . .

Want No!! (And Mama, You Can Check Yourself at the Door)

Roughly translated: "I do not want to do that/eat that/listen to you/follow instructions.

Usage:

Mama: "Reed, do you want to read Hippos Go Berserk?

Reed: "You want no!" (Specific Translation: "No, I do not want to read Hippos Go Berserk nor anything else you dare to suggest. If you don't suggest it, I might want it. Peace out, lady.")

Dada: "Reed, do you want some toast?"

Reed: "You want no!" (Specific Translation: "No, I do NOT want toast. Not if you're making it, and probably not if Mama's making it. Yes, I realize I want toast all the time, everyday, but . . . since you asked . . . no. No I do not. In case you still don't understand me, I'm going to whine along to the tune of the Mickey Mouse Hot Dog song and perhaps punch Mama in the face, just for kicks.")

"You" might be curious about that odd use of second-person. For a child so wildly articulate in so many ways, this has been a curious but ultimately endearing habit/trend: using second-person in place of first. The obvious answer is that, continually hearing himself referred to as "you", he refers to himself as "you". Simple enough. Yet Reed also refers to himself using the appropriate pronoun, and I'm pretty sure he knows the difference. Perhaps he's just trying to screw with our addled brains; it's not so difficult a mission accomplished in this household. But consider the following exchanges:

Mama: "I pick the scraper! What do you pick, Reed?"

Reed: "I pick the combine harvester! The snowplow is for Dada!"

Mama: "Okay, if Mama has the scraper, you have the combine harvester, and Dada's rocking the snowplow . . . what's left?"

Reed: "The grader!"

Mama: "That's right! You're pretty good with the process of elimination! Let's turn the page (of the newly cool truck books so callously abandoned in the not so distant past). Can Mama have the pick-up truck?"

Reed: "No. That's for Dada! That's not for YOU!"

Ahem. Alright. Fine. Dada rocks; Mama . . . ??? Whatever. In any case, I fail to see how the child who says "No. That's for Dada! That's not for YOU!" also screeches "You want no!" rather than, say, the linguistically sophisticated "I don't want it."

The universe is indeed one of divine mystery.