Interview With 4 Year Old Will

Interview with Four Year Old Will

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? PJ Masks.

2. What did you have for breakfast? Waffles and sausage and strawberries.
3. What do you want to name your future son? Hudson. (His little baby cousin who he is desperate to meet someday.)
4. Favorite Food? Strawberries
5. What food do you dislike? macaroni and cheese if you put pepper on it. (Ok.)
6. What is your favorite color? Blue and yellow and green and purple and violet. All the colors.
7. Favorite lunch? Peanut butter.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Swing on my new swing.
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? San Diego
10. Favorite sport? Baseball.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? I wanna name her Hannah. (His cousin. Hudson and Hannah also have a sister named Hailey. I'm kinda sad that Will left her out in the naming game.)
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? A night person.
13. Pets? Only a dog. Not a cat. Because our cat ran away.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I like playing on my swing.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? I want to be an astronaut.
16. What is your favorite candy? Caramel Crispie candy.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Oh when we're on a trip and we're just flying and then we landed at the airport. (Mkay.)
18. What is your favorite book? Little Blue Truck
19. What are you most proud of? About my family
20. What is your favorite movie? Onward
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Peanut Butter (He does say this word a lot. Like, always. It's almost as though he has a nervous tick.)
2. What is your least favorite word? He insisted on only making a sound. It was kind of like an extremely loud raspberry noise.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") flying
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") Peanut butter and jelly and pickles.
5. What sound or noise do you love? I love the chicken sound. Bagock!
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Loud yelling (Really? Because it's basically your default volume.)

7. What is your favorite curse word? Dumb
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? A police man
9. What profession would you not like to do? A firefighter.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? I would like for him to say, "Jesus there's a new Heaven boy who is coming in to Heaven." (I love that God the Father is talking to God the Son in this scene. And that Will is called Heaven Boy.)

To Will, on Your Third Birthday

Hey Kid,

You're 3. I just went back and read through the "Hey Kid" series because, while it isn't exactly a story I could forget, life gets moving and it becomes increasingly more difficult to remember to reflect on the incredible way God brought you to us. I suppose that this blog is a bit like the stones of remembrance piled up by Joshua. When you ask me in times to come what these "stones" mean, I will let you know that my journey to you is like the drying up of the waters of the Jordan. I will tell you that our being together is as though we crossed that river on dry ground. I will remember and I will tell all the people of the earth that the hand of the LORD is mighty. (From Joshua 4:21-24)

You are incredible. A series of contradictions running around in the most coordinated of toddler bodies. You are sweet and spicy, kind and ever so naughty, rarely calm but somehow calming, tender but tough. You are part of Newton's first law existing in human form. A body in motion will remain in motion...

Pretty much.

And a body that is scared at night will climb into its mother's arms and wrap limb around limb like entwined octopuses. A body that used to sleep perfectly through the night will suddenly have terrors and all bets are off and the parents are tired. A body that doesn't want to will basically refuse to potty train even though that same body is absolutely capable of doing it and even though the aforementioned parents want to be done buying diapers and also would like to stop scraping poop out of tiny underwear. A body in motion will remind its parents that being a toddler is sometimes rough but it is also, perhaps, the most hysterical, adorable time in a person's whole life.

You were so excited about your birthday this year. Whenever anyone asked you what you wanted, you only ever replied, "A cake party and a gift card." Naturally, we had to buy a giant Costco cake because it was really a go big or go home kind of request. You wanted a baseball cake--because you're obsessed--and you joined in with the chorus of friends singing yourself Happy Birthday. We invited our Community Life Group and a few others to celebrate with you and you were positively darling. Your eyes were lit up like chocolate sparkles. One of your friends walked in with a balloon and you so nicely told her, "I love your balloon!" before being made aware that it was for you. Your first gift card came to the party and you were so happy to receive it. What a funny little guy you are.

What you lack in potty training ability, you make up for in your command of the entire English language. I know everyone else will catch up and the fact that you talked early and impressively will not be such a big deal. But for now, you know ALL THE WORDS. (Or, at least, a whole lot of them.) I basically think you're brilliant but I may be entirely biased.

You are the most coordinated just three-year-old that I have ever, ever seen. You can smack a ball off a tee and, if accurately pitched, you can hit one in midair. You can balance on your bike and zoom around the backyard on your brand new birthday scooter. (Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa!) Your climbing skills astound and you can catch a football from across the room. So, I mean, really, what can't you do? TELL US WHEN YOU HAVE TO GO POOP AND THEN DO IT ON THE POTTY, THAT'S WHAT!

(I hope you are reading this as, I don't know, a fully functional adult who is toilet trained. I really hope that because if you're twenty and I still have to reward you with an M&M for using the potty instead of a Pull-Up we've got a lot of big issues.)

One day, not long ago, I was upset about a thing. I was upset and then I drove our van right over a bird who didn't get out of the way. By the time I realized he wasn't going to move, it was too late. The tire thudded right over that unsuspecting fowl and I burst into tears. From the backseat, your little voice came, soothing and gentle, "Mommy, don't cry. It was an accident. It's OK. Mommy, I will take good care of you." Then you softly sang Jesus Loves Me. When you completed the song, you whispered, "It's OK. I'm right here." My darling boy, you have listened. You have heard me as I rub your back and tell you that I am here.

I love you so much. You make me laugh every single day. You are a joy gift from the real Joy Giver. I lose myself in your gorgeous eyes and endless curls (except right now you've got a summer shorter cut but they'll grow back). I am so proud of you and so very blessed to be able to call myself your mom.

Always, No Matter What,
Mommy

Interview With 3 Year Old Will

I always ask my boys these questions on their birthday. We decided to give it a go with Will who turned 3 today.

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? Paw Patrol.

2. What did you have for breakfast? Pancakes and sausage.
3. What do you want to name your future son? Jack (Phew. A nice, normal name.)
4. Favorite Food? McDonald's. Marshmallows. (It's pizza but okay. He can sound like he has junk food junkies for parents.)
5. What food do you dislike? Potatoes. (He likes potatoes just fine but whatever.)
6. What is your favorite color? Green.
7. Favorite lunch? Peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Play toys.
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? I would be lost. Okay, but where would you like to go on a trip? San Diego.
10. Favorite sport? Football is my favorite sport. Are you sure? What about baseball? (Because he is obsessed with baseball.) Oh, I love baseball.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? Peanut butter is a good girl's name. (Is it though?)
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? I love the night. (Then why are you always up early?)
13. Pets? Sloth and fox. (These are his stuffed animals but he just turned 3 today so we'll go with it.)
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I love jumping up and down.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? Matt. Okay, but for a job? A trash man.
16. What is your favorite candy? Mints are my favorite candy.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? I went to Oregon.
18. What is your favorite book? Room on the Broom.
19. What are you most proud of? My birthday! I am PROUD.
20. What is your favorite movie? The one with popcorn. Okay, can you tell me a name? Elsa. Frozen? Yes. Frozen.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The egg. You think? How come? I love eggs.

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Smash.
2. What is your least favorite word? Gross.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Popcorn.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") I don't love playing with ghosts. (Um. Good.)
5. What sound or noise do you love? Music.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? A ghost.

7. What is your favorite curse word? Stupid.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Fireman.
9. What profession would you not like to do? A toilet cleaner.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Um. No way! (We break into hysterical laughter) When you meet Jesus, what might he say to you? Smoosh the peanut butter. Seems we have some theology and Bible lessons to go over.

Yeti Jammies

It was a Thursday morning in Walmart. The youngest boy and I had just gathered several items, checked them out ourselves, and were heading out of the self-check area when we noticed a small boy wearing what we call Yeti Jammies. Will owns said pair of pajamas with snow monsters on them.

Will: He has my yeti jammies.

Me: Yes. He does have your jammies.

Will: He give them back?

Me: Oh, Honey, no. He has the same jammies. Those aren't yours. Yours are at home.

Will: He went into the laundry and took them?

Me: No. Those are his. Yours are still at home.

Will: He came into my house and took my yetis? 

None of this was said with any malice. He truly just assumed the baby, who looked like he was just shy of a year old, broke into our house to lift one blanket sleeper. He never raised his voice but instead kept talking in a normal, albeit slightly concerned, tone.

Me: He has his own. Those are not yours.

Will: Can I get them back from him ever?

Me: Will. I promise that your jammies are safe at home. I will show you when we get there.

At this point, I told the mom of the other boy that my son couldn't understand why her little boy was wearing his pajamas. She smiled and laughed and then pushed her cart, her kid, and his yeti jammies off in another direction.

Will: Wait! He still has my yetis on!

Me: Ok. Baby. I promise to show you your jammies as soon as we get home.

The entire way to the car, he calmly explained to me that the little boy still had his jammies and he had obviously stolen them from our home and he would like them back at some point. There was no reasoning with him. When I got home, the first thing I did was run up to his room. I opened his pajama drawer and...

THE YETI JAMMIES WERE NOT THERE.

I panicked briefly before remembering that they were in the dryer. I ran down and pulled them out.

Me: Will, look! Here are your yeti jammies.

Will: Oh! He already bringed them back! He is a nice boy.

Sigh.

Love Is...

The other day, my toddler looked up at me and, in his adorable little voice, said, "Mommy, I love you too much." It's a thing he occasionally says because, apparently, he thinks the words too and so are interchangeable. I often tell him that I love him so much. He returns the sentiment by telling me that he loves me too much.

It melts my heart.

But, in order to keep me humble I guess, he got mad at me a few hours later and shouted, "Mom! I don't love you!" Thinking (hoping!) that I'd heard him wrong because he's two and not fifteen, I repeated it.

"You don't love me?"

"No! I don't love you. I'm fwustwated!"

Well.

Toddlers are tyrants. And also they are adorable and fun and hysterical. Sometimes they love and sometimes they try to wound with words. They're kind of a coin toss.

Little Sino

Last weekend, I had a few women over to watch a movie and eat too much. I was having a particularly difficult time getting Will to go to sleep because SNACKS and PEOPLE. He pulled out all the stops. He needed a drink. He needed to be rocked. He needed his foot scratched and his head rubbed and his tummy tickled. He needed his blankets to be different. Nope. Wait. They were better the first time. It was ridiculous. Finally, he asked me to sing to him.

"Sing Little Sino," he said. And he pronounced it sigh-no.

What? I thought and my brain worked double time to try to figure out what in the world he was asking for. I asked him if he meant this song and I asked him if he meant that song.

"No. Little Sino."

"Does Daddy sing it to you?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. But Daddy wasn't home so that was hardly helpful. His frustration built because I simply couldn't figure it out. I could almost see him thinking, I cannot communicate what I mean and it is breaking my heart. I told him I'd be right back and I went down the stairs. One of my friends watches Will on Tuesdays and another one watches him on Wednesdays. They both happened to be at my house.

"Do you have any idea what Little Sino is?" I asked.

"Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star?" One of them asked, "That's what I sing to him."

"I turn on the radio," the other one replied. Neither of them had any other guesses. I figured I'd try Twinkle, Twinkle. Up the stairs I went. I began to sing and he didn't stop me so we assumed we'd figured it out.

Fast forward to the next night. He requested Little Sino again and I immediately launched into Twinkle, Twinkle.

"NO! LITTLE SINO!" he shouted.

"Oh. Is this not Little Sino, then?"

"No," he sighed. "Sing Little Sino, pwease."

Just then Matthew walked by his door. (He'd been in the basement playing video games the previous night.) "Hey, Matt, come in here." He walked in. "Do you have ANY idea what Little Sino is? He wants me to sing Little Sino and I just...I don't know what it is."

"Ummm," he thought for approximately three seconds and then he began to sing, "Jesus loves me, this I know."

"YEAH!" Will screamed.

Little ones to him belong= Little. This I know= Sino.

And there we have it folks. I've always referred to that song as Jesus Love Me but it is, in fact, Little Sino. Or at least, it probably will be to our family for a good long while.

Toddler Talk

I used to blog all the hilarious things my toddlers would say. Then they grew up, got busy, I got a job, and I abandoned my blog like one of those creepy, old, empty amusement parks. But I have another toddler now. This toddler was talking well before either of his brothers ever did. He speaks in full sentences and paragraphs which means that he often says hilarious and also adorable things.

Will is obsessed with this old stethoscope we have. I just had shoulder surgery and he likes to bring the stethoscope in and listen to my chest to make sure my shoulder is okay. Or something. Troy and I were discussing that we want to get him a doctor's kit for Christmas. That made me think that Will probably doesn't remember Christmas from last year and certainly doesn't remember Santa.

"Hey Will," I said. "Do you know who Santa Claus is?"

He paused, looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Um. Mommy."

He had absolutely no idea what he was saying but I laughed out loud. It was so funny. I'm guessing that with big brothers refusing to sit on Santa's lap, this little one might have some questions about the validity of Santa. He may not last too long but I sure hope we get to do Santa for the next couple of years.

Last night, he was being naughty at the table. I wish I could say this was an isolated incident but we're raising some combination of Dennis the Menace and every Little Rascal. I asked him what would happen if he didn't stop. "Mommy will slam my face into computer."

His big brothers erupted into hysterics. One of them informed Will that I'm not violent. I was glad for the support. I repeated my question and he said some other outlandish abusive thing that I might try. I wish I could remember what it was. I have no idea where he came up with any of it. Mommy has never ever, not once, slammed anyone's face into her computer.

His voice is so sweet and has the most precious cadence to it. I mean, sometimes it's whiny without intention and often it's whiny because he's two but the rest of the time it's just straight up adorable.

A Zebra!

We just returned from several days in Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. My favorite moment of the entire trip went something like this...

We'd driven into the park after dinner. It was evening and the park was alive with wildlife. We'd see many cars pulled over and a crowd of people pointing and taking pictures. As we looked to see what they saw, one of us would yell something like, "Oh! I found it. It's a deer!" or, "There it is! A buffalo." This went on for some time.

At one point, we were driving along. There wasn't an animal in sight. Suddenly, our barely two-year-old screams, " Found it! A zebra!"

We all basically died laughing and have repeated the phrases no less than 500 times. Toddlers are the best.

Interview on Behalf of a Two Year Old

I interview each of my kids on their birthdays and keep record of that here on my blog. Will, while a grand talker, isn't quite communicative enough to answer interview questions although I have high hopes for next year. So this is not actually an interview. It's just me filling in the blanks for him. Here goes nothing.

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? Daniel Tiger. Although he now thoroughly enjoys Peppa Pig and Paw Patrol.

2. What did you have for breakfast? Yogurt. (In case I'm reading this later in life and wondering why I only gave my toddler son yogurt, he has a sore throat. The remnant of an icky virus.)
3. What do you want to name your future son? He'll probably follow recent horrible naming trends and do something like Jagger or Basil.
4. Favorite Food? Pizza and blueberries.
5. What food do you dislike? Avocado. Anything he simply doesn't feel like eating at the time.
6. What is your favorite color? I have no idea.
7. Favorite lunch? He likes PB&J usually.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Undo whatever we've just done. Also, baseball is a pretty intense obsession.
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Anywhere with his family, I'm sure.
10. Favorite sport? Baseball.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? See #3. Probably McKindrie. Or Basil. I feel like Basil works (read: DOES NOT WORK) for a boy or a girl.
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? Morning.
13. Pets? Tessie. Hamilton. Ollie. And currently a golden retriever puppy who hasn't gone to her new home yet.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? He talk talk talks all the time.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? A baseball player.
16. What is your favorite candy? ALL OF THEM. But he really enjoys M&Ms and Skittles.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Phoenix, I think.
18. What is your favorite book? It changes often. Currently, it's probably a book about a helicopter.
19. What are you most proud of? Learning new things every day.
20. What is your favorite movie? He does not even remotely have the attention span involved in movie watching.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? He doesn't care. I'm just glad I can finally get him to eat the occasional bite of egg.

And, for fun, the questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? NO! I mean, it must be. He says it 82,000 times a day.
2. What is your least favorite word? No. (If it's being said to him.)
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Baseball and Daniel Tiger
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") Having to go to bed before everyone else.
5. What sound or noise do you love? Music.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? His parents when we are disciplining him.

7. What is your favorite curse word? Well, I mean, he says a certain one A LOT when he is attempting to say Fork.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Baseball player or Lead Singer in the Band.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Anything where he'd have to sit still.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? On behalf of my child, I hope that he leads a life worthy of the response, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

On Your Second Birthday

Dear Will,

I don't know why I find it surprising that time flies when you're raising kids. Your brother is already nearly two thirds of the way to 18 so the fact that you are two should come as no earthly surprise. But it kind of still feels like that moment when the very first picture I'd ever seen of you came flashing onto my cell phone screen.

My goodness, I was instantly in love. I am and will always be so thankful that your mom chose us--out of all the families--to be yours. You are perpetual motion and everlasting energy. You're busy. You're crazy. You're a handful and a half. But in all the chasing and wrangling and "no" yelling and time outing, you bounce through life--this little extroverted, outgoing, friendly ball of joy. Your smile and giggle are infectious. Your hugs, tender and heartfelt. Your curls, perfect. I love every inch of you so very much.

You are so tiny but intensely mighty. There really isn't an ounce of fat on your skinny-highest-metabolism-ever body. Yet, there is a fierceness to the way you live your live. On fire with an energy that cannot be contained.

You talk SO MUCH BETTER than either of your brothers did at two. I just didn't even know boys could be this verbal this early. I know that's a gross generalization and stereotype but honestly. I just didn't know a not-even-two-year-old could look at me and say, "Mommy, my mouf* hurt." Like. What? How are you basically fully communicating with me at two?

I exaggerate. I can actually only understand about a third of what you say. But, as soon as those other two thirds become clear, you'll have full command of the English language. It's adorable. Your little voice is, quite simply, the world's cutest thing.

Baseball. My goodness, kid. You're obsessed. You spend all of your brothers' games trying to steal equipment so that you can swing bats, wear batting helmets, throw balls, and wear gloves. You LOVE to run the bases which basically means that you swing the bat, drop the bat, and run a series of quick circles wherever you're standing. You will straight up sit on the couch and watch A GOOD AMOUNT of a baseball game which is astounding given your short attention span and the fact that, only very recently did you start to watch any television at all.

Really. As for movies, there's no way you'll sit still long enough to watch an entire movie. I think we got through the first five minutes of Cars before you abandoned it. Ever so thankfully (to my own sanity and because I'm never in the running for mama of the year) you have finally started watching Daniel Tiger, Peppa Pig, and Paw Patrol. 

You sleep SO well. I recently took away your beloved pacifier, telling you that they're for babies and you're a big boy. You cried for all of fifteen minutes total and that was that. Bye bye, Paci. Even without it, you sleep from about 7:30-7:00 and you nap for 2-3 hours. I don't know why I complain about your ability to climb the walls during your waking hours. I'd climb them too if I was sleeping roughly 14 hours out of every day. But boy howdy kiddo do I ever need those 14 hours because you are actually like a pinball when you're awake--darting from here to there and everywhere.

I love you so much. I love the laughter and joy you bring to our family with your excited spirit. I love how you say hi to everyone and wave to everyone and believe that everyone is your very best friend. You are so incredibly amazing. I thank God for you. I thank Him for showing me that, "Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning." Thank you for being YOU. Crazy, amazing, wonderful, you.

Love,

Mom

*Mouth.

When You're Raising Hurricane William and Eight Puppies at the Same Time

Whew. It's been forever. I'm a terrible blogger. To my two loyal readers, thank you for sticking around and waiting for me to post once every moon cycle. It's just...busy. I'm in my final month of my first year of part time teaching. I have a toddler who is better described as Hurricane William. AND WE HAVE EIGHT FIVE WEEK OLD PUPPIES. Have you ever met eight five week old puppies? Have you ever tried to take care of eight five week old puppies and a toddler? Have you ever tried to do this while your older two boys play baseball like every night?

Good times.

About Hurricane William, I posted this to Facebook the other day.

While I was vacuuming two rooms, my not-quite-two-year-old managed to flood the entire bathroom while he practiced brushing his teeth with his brother's toothbrush. While I cleaned that mess, he got hold of the bible study book that I'm working through. The book didn't stand a chance against the combination highlighter/ink pen he'd also found. "Mom Set Free: Good news for moms who are tired of trying to be good enough." My kid wrecked the cover of a study about moms not living up to the standard we have in our own minds. I had to laugh at that while also instructing my son more perfectly about where we do and do not color. I put him into his seat with a piece of paper, a pencil, and an apple. Naturally, he's stabbing the apple with the pencil and ignoring the paper. Welcome, folks, to the William Administration.

(A lot of bonus points if you correctly identify the fun reference in the paragraph above.)

He's a total joy and a half. Don't get me wrong at all. He's just a very energetic joy. He's incredibly fun because I've never had a child who exploded with language before their second birthday. This kid will repeat anything and speaks roughly a million words unprompted. Tonight he announced, "My pickle!" The other night, after a baseball game, he yelled to our friend, "Bye-bye, Jeremy!" Whenever any of my kids start talking, I tend to think they're the only human being who ever had the capacity to learn language. It doesn't matter that this is number three. Each one blows me away.

PUPPIES!

The puppies were born looking like partially furry rats. Now, just five weeks later, they are at full blown adorable golden retriever puppy capacity. I am fairly certain they cannot and will not ever be cuter than they are right now. They bound after us which causes endless toddler squeals all day long. They wrestle and hop and pounce and fall asleep all over each other. We've found a forever home for one of them and are still looking for 7 more.

They are fantastic. We love every single one. If we can't sell them and you're reading this blog, chances are there's a free golden retriever coming your way. YOU GET A PUPPY AND YOU GET A PUPPY AND YOU GET A PUPPY!

But look at them...

This little one found her forever family and I couldn't be happier. We have been hoping and praying that we'd just have a real peace about the people who are interested in our puppies. This one is going home to a family who has owned goldens in the past. They have kids and a yard. I know she'll be well loved. That will make it so much easier to say goodbye.

I really do love each and every one of them so much. But owning a whole litter of golden retrievers is a tad bit excessive so if you or someone you know is interested in a pure bred, AKC puppy with OFA certified parents, let me know! They come with full breeding rights. We're willing to relocate them if we find a great home. 

Also, they are great with cats and toddlers. Even energetically joyful toddlers. Come to think of it, Will is a lot like a golden retriever puppy.

On This Day in History

On December 21, we celebrate William Bassham Day--the day we officially and permanently and forever and always solidified Will's legal place in our family. On April 21, we celebrate Matthew Bassham Day for the same reasons. While the day Will joined our family felt like a formality as, after his birth, there were no adoption complications whatsoever, Matthew's day feels like a lot less of a formality and a lot more of the-day-I-finally-exhaled-after-not-breathing-for-nearly-fourteen-months.

If you're new here which is doubtful because back in the days of our contested adoption I had a great deal more readers than I do now, you can look at the archives for 2009 and 2010 to read more about our drawn out adoption process. What I want to say about that now is this...

Matthew's mother never wavered in her desire to place him with us. Oh, to be sure, she struggled in her own heart. While I don't presume to speak for her, I can only imagine that she experienced a daily tug of war of grief and sorrow and possibly regret mixed with the feeling that hopefully she made the right choice. Publicly though, she only ever said that he was ours.

I've been thinking about this recently. If the number of times I fail as a mother were written down, I fear no volume of pages would contain them. Just a couple of days ago, irritated, once again, at Garrett, my eleven year old, for being a terrible, horrible, pack rat slob, I started yanking things out of his backpack and scolding him for carrying around trash. I was throwing several plastic water bottles onto the floor when two thoughts struck me at the exact same time.

1. The "trash" was very colorful and cut in such a way as to indicate treasure where I saw only garbage.

2. My son's face and, therefore, his spirit were crushed.

"Mom," he said quietly before I could fix it, "it isn't trash. It's my art project I've been working on all week."

In my defense, my son is notorious for carting actual trash around in his backpack for days and weeks on end. Still, I'm a horrible parent. The prosecution rests. I did apologize, telling him I realized it was something special and I had assumed too quickly that the empty water bottles were exactly what they seemed. But I will probably carry the look on his face to my grave. I could weep even now.

My parenting fails are great. I desire such a higher standard for myself. I imagined I'd do this so much better than I am. Yesterday, as I got Will ready for bed, I said, "Hey, buddy. You're adopted. Can you say adopted?" He muttered something that suggested he was trying. I continued. "Adopted means that you were in your other mommy's tummy and when you came out, she picked us to raise you." He's not even two. It's going to have to stay that simple for now.

I thought about his other mommy. I thought about Matt's other mommy. And I thought about the weight of what I'm doing. I love Will and Matthew like they were birthed out of my very own body. Perhaps that doesn't make sense if you've never adopted a child but there are times when I forget that their story did not start with me. But the truth is they didn't begin with me. They began with their first mothers.

Regardless of circumstances, each of those women chose me. In a way, they hand picked me out of all the other mothers. Not only did they invite me in to one of the most intimate relationships known to mankind, they then turned around and walked away, leaving their heart in my arms and trusting me to love it more than my own life. I do not just owe it to myself and my children to hope and pray they turn out alright. I owe it to their mothers.

I will fail. I know that. I hope they know that. I hope that they will forgive my failures and my short comings. And I hope that, when their children are grown, they can say that they would choose me all over again. Raising their children--raising my children--is not a responsibility I take lightly. Motherhood is the single most important job I will ever have and I'm doing it, not only for myself, but for them.

On this day, eight years ago, I breathed a deep sigh of relief that my boy was mine forever. But he will never be only mine. He is ours. And I will strive to do my very best with him. For him. And for her.

***********************************
If you're an adoptive parent, regardless of how your children came to you, regardless of the circumstances surrounding their placement with you, be sure to think about their first parents and your responsibility to them. You are holding a significant piece of them in your arms. Love well. Love honorably. Love in such a way that when your child connects with his first family--whenever that might be--you are held in high esteem in the eyes of your child and in the eyes of his family.

The Game Changer

Kid number three is a complete game changer for me. I've been told that there's always one. He's the one. He tipped the scales so we can no longer play man on man. Instead it's zone defense and that one kid single handedly has the best offense. He shuts down our defense regularly. Last night, Troy was helping the older two boys with homework. As he and Garrett worked on updating a science fair project so that it'd be ready to compete at the district level, he also read off spelling words to Matthew. I twisted and turned in the kitchen, making school lunches (which Garrett forgot this morning anyway) and sauteing, frying, and scrambling dinner. Will was repeatedly underfoot, trying to grab at the hot skillet, throwing Ziploc bags around like confetti, and screaming because dinner wasn't ready RIGHT WHEN HE WANTED IT.

Game changer.

I thought I had advice to offer young moms. I've been asked many times exactly how I'd instructed my children to be polite, what I'd done to make them eat everything on their plate, how we'd instilled respect into them. And then came the third. He's basically Animal from the Muppets.

DON'T GET ME WRONG HERE. HE IS JOY AND LIFE AND LIGHT AND I LOVE HIM INTENSELY AND IMMENSELY. FOR EVER AND ALWAYS. AMEN. AND I HABITUALLY WATCH HIM SLEEP AND LITERALLY WEEP AT HOW WONDERFUL HE IS AND HOW BLESSED I AM. (But it must be written down so that, one day, when he is--hopefully--respectful and calm and raising children of his own, and he is calling me and saying, "My toddler, McKenadielee*, won't stop trying to take apart the television set," I can direct him to this very post and assure him that it will get better.)

It's just that he's a game changer. And game changers will one day rule the world.

We have gotten two children to the ages of 11 and nearly 9 with certain parenting tactics and a whole lot of prayer. We parented a toddler and a newborn during an incredibly stressful contested adoption while living more than 700 miles from our nearest relative. And it's not that I would have ever said that I knew what I was doing because that's incredibly foolish and also, I didn't. But, for the most part, our combination of stern consistency mixed with grace and love seemed to be on point. I can remember wanting to call my mommy to come bail me out many times, of course. There was the head lice situation, more vomit than I care to even chronicle, and poop. So much poop. And, yes, I have called my mother on MANY occasions to basically be like, "What the heck, man? What do I even do with this child who has lost his dadgum mind?" She's talked me off ledges and encouraged me when I needed it and doled out advice when asked. But, for the majority of the most part, my husband and I have gotten through two toddler stages, two preschoolers, two early elementary schoolers and are smack in the middle of getting two kids through mid-late elementary school. I think I got a little cocky. I think I thought, "Well, ok. Brace yourself for the teenage years because these first 12 have been pretty alright. Hold on tight, y'all, the real parenting is about to happen."

This game changer though? WHOA BOY. I can't even see beyond two with him.

BECAUSE WHATEVER I DO I CANNOT GET HIM TO STOP THROWING HIS FOOD.

I thought he would grow out of this by, oh, fourteen months or so. However, I still find myself whirling through parenting tactics to stop the food from flying. Grace and a steady voice of reason? Stern face with a raised voice? Making him clean it up? Taking it away? NOTHING WORKS. (Well, taking it away DOES work but only temporarily--until the next meal. God and the Division of Child and Family Services frown on purposely starving your children so I do have to feed him. Three times daily, in fact.)

When this kid doesn't want something anymore--or at all--he just chucks it as far as he can. Side note: The game changer has a wicked good arm. I sit right next to him so, more often than not, I'm in his direct line of fire. You guys, I have to believe this will stop. I have to because my very sanity depends on it. I don't know ANY kindergartners who routinely throw their food but, the thing is, I also do not know many 20 month olds who routinely throw their food either.

SO WHAT THE HECK, MAN? WHAT DO I EVEN DO WITH THIS CHILD WHO HAS LOST HIS DADGUM MIND?

I'm serious. I'll take your advice.


*I just assume that my children will follow current trends and give their children stupid names. I'm trying to prepare myself now so that when they put little LaTorkleson and his twin brother, Mt. Rainier, in my arms I can smile, knowing I got past those names decades ago.

Merry Christmas

Last week was filled with vomit. Will's vomit, my vomit, Garrett's vomit, Matthew's vomit, more of Will's vomit. We all just dropped like flies. The older boys and I, however, recovered within a day while Will just went on being sick. He was sick on Monday and on Tuesday and Wednesday. He seemed better on Thursday but started throwing up again on Friday and into Saturday. On Saturday night, I ended up at the children's hospital with a dehydrated Will. While we were able to orally rehydrate him without the need of an IV, it was a little scary for me. I'm just really aware of how fast organs can start shutting down in little people. He ended up being just fine and I'm very grateful that we were home within a few hours. I know that isn't the case for the parents of super sick kiddos.

Still, Christmas kind of sneaked up on us after six days of the swirling puke virus. I stayed home on Sunday morning which was tough for me since it was Christmas Eve. I almost never, ever miss church and being home, instead of with my brothers and sisters always makes me sad. I was so glad to be with Will though, rehydrating him and celebrating every wet diaper.

That night, since he'd been puke free for more than 24 hours, I was able to take him to our candlelight service. This was good because I was singing, the older boys were part of a living nativity and Troy was, of course, busy being the pastor.

I'd post a picture of Garrett as Joseph and Matthew as a wise man but I don't want to put other people's children on my blog. When they weren't busy being dressed as biblical characters, my kids were looking dapper. Will was excited to finally be feeling better.

I'm not a huge fan of the snow. But I am a huge fan of the snow on Christmas. Several years that we've lived here have resulted in brown ground on Christmas day. It almost never snows on the actual holiday which was also true this year but what did happen was magical. The snow began to fall, in giant and beautiful flakes on Christmas Eve. The twinkling lights everywhere were made more beautiful by the white and wintery wonderland as it softly fell. It was so fantastic and, as I watched it drift silently down, I had the thought that I would remember those few moments, with my kids in Christmas jammies and our tree framed in the window, for the rest of my life. Garrett is so close to being a teenager. The age gap between him and his baby brother is big and real. I have only these few seconds where all my boys are children. I want to soak up their relative smallness as much as I possibly can.

Monday was late and lazy like our Christmases always are. We opened our stockings and then had breakfast. The boys played in the snow while I cleaned up and Troy shoveled the driveway. Then we rushed through Will's gifts because he was turning into a nap needing tiny toddler tyrant. After we laid him down, the rest of us quietly and calmly opened our gifts.

Garrett received twenty trillion books this year, much to his delight. He's a history and literature loving bookworm. 

Matthew loves science and math and was truly overjoyed to get a chemistry set from my brother and sister-in-law. He loved all his gifts but I think you can see how happy he was about this one.

And Will loved everything, especially toys that made noise and his Busy Board which Troy made him. It's full of gadgets and gizmos he can flip and twist and zip and turn.

 

Our day was lovely. We're so thankful to our Lord for entering into humanity as a tiny baby in the tiniest of towns, in the lowliest of places. And we're so thankful for our family. Merry Christmas!

Barf Comes to the Toddler

On Monday night, my youngest boy projectile vomited all over me at church. I stood, immobile for far too long, contemplating where to even begin to begin. Stomach contents dripped from my jacket, ran down my legs, and were plastered to my shoes. The kid was worse. Two incredible women cleaned the floor while Troy and I worked on getting the kid into a clean outfit. We left as soon as we could.

He threw up in the car.

And then he threw up every ten minutes for a couple hours. Although, thankfully, those sessions were small amounts. Then he stretched it to every 30-40 minutes before finally calling it a night at 1:30 am. We thought his first round of the stomach flu was behind us. Troy stayed home with him yesterday and he seemed fine in the morning. Then he threw up twice and whined and cried and was generally miserable.

This morning, after sleeping for more than 13 hours, he woke up dehydrated and dry diapered. He guzzled Powerade and milk (I know. I know. I shouldn't have given him milk but HE WANTED IT and HE WAS THIRSTY and I felt like ogre telling him he couldn't have it.) and then he chucked it all over me and him making the score Barf: 2, Mom: 0. I spent my day force feeding him small amounts of liquid. He's been the saddest little lamb, alternating between sitting calmly and quietly in my arms and screaming non stop.

This afternoon, he watched ten minutes of a show (maybe a record for him), quietly looked at books, and played with Play-Doh. He was like a regular toddler. Nothing about Will is regular. He's go-go-go 100% of the time. (Also, he's way cuter than regular.) So, while I hope he can finally keep food in his belly soon and while I hope he doesn't become so dehydrated that he needs an IV, it has been nice to see that he can sit still for longer than two seconds. Even if it does take some kind of super flu to make it happen. To clarify, I do not want my child to have the super flu. I want him to be back to his old self as soon as possible. Like, right now.

It's been rough.

And as you all know, I vomit when someone in the the next town over has the barfs. There's little to no chance of me surviving toddler puke all over me, toddler lying on me, toddler stealing my water bottle and drinking from it, toddler trying to shove his cup into my mouth. It's almost inevitable that a few (or thirty) visits to the porcelain puke collector is bound to be a part of my future. True to this prediction, and despite the fact that I've washed my hands 12,000 times since Monday, my stomach started feeling pretty unhappy a couple of hours ago. I'm holding on to a small thread of hope that it's psychological and I can will myself not to get sick.

I'm also wondering if it can possibly make its way through my family before Monday. I'm guessing that's a mathematical impossibility. But we'll see. I really just don't want Santa bringing vomit to anyone for Christmas.

18

Dear Boy,

I'm sorry that in honor of your one and a half years on planet Earth, you have managed to catch the creeping crud that has your dad and me both on amoxicillin. Me for a cold turned sinus infection and him for a cold turned ear infection like a common four-year-old. Here's to hoping your snot stays in your nose and doesn't venture to other places in your head. Meanwhile, I'm sorry for sticking that green bulb up there and sucking your brains snot out.

Today, when I picked you up from the nursery, the worker commented, "He's exhausting." It's not the first (or fiftieth) time I've heard this from someone. A little old lady who spent approximately five minutes observing you at a party recently expressed the same sentiment before asking, "Is he always THAT busy?" It was almost as though she thought she was making a never before expressed revelation.Yes. I am aware that you never stop moving. I live with it all day, every day.

You are busy. And you are some kind of mechanical baby genius who loves taking things apart to see how they work. It's not that you can't entertain yourself because you most certainly can. It's that your idea of entertaining yourself is to remove every DVD from the cabinet in record speed. No, no, Will. Or climb on the coffee table so you can flip the light on and off and back on again. No, no, Will. Or grab fistfuls of kitty litter and throw it all over the house. No, no, Will. Or climb on the chair and then the kitchen table to quickly destroy my centerpiece. No, no, Will. Yes, you can self entertain but it almost always involves a moderate to serious level of destruction.

It's a good thing you're cute!



And you are very, very cute. You've recently entered that very brief phase where someone crying (or fake crying) will cause you to run to them immediately. You hug. You gently rub their back. You cuddle. It's adorable. You've also started to make a smack sound when you give kisses. And, to further build my case for how cute you are, you also wave to everyone you pass, alternating hands and acting only half interested. Much like a celebrity in a parade. Your smile lights up whatever room you're in and sometimes I feel sorry for the other babies because your fun personality is as big as that smile. Which is to say that you have a larger than life personality. It might not be fair to all the other babies that you got the looks and the charms.

You don't say much yet but you're still well on your way to being a full fledged talker much sooner than your brothers. You can say, mama, dada, Garrett, Matt-Matt, dog, kitty, Tessie, tree, thank you, shoe, sock, food, fish, nana, and side (outside). There might be more but those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head.



Speaking of outside, there is no where you'd rather be. The tub is a close second. Evenings are still a bit of a witching hour for you, but if we take you outside or stick you in the bath, you are a happy dude. You also love to play with your brothers, throw balls, and dance. You adore Tessie. You're obsessed with microphones but only if they're turned on and capable of amplifying your voice. And right now, you're pretty impressed with the large tree that is set up in our house.

You are still so tiny but so mighty. And, in all honesty, I'm so thankful that you wiggle and move and are so smart and coordinated. If you can harness your incredibly strong will for good, you'll do great things. But first, you'll need to stop throwing food at every, single meal.

You are my very most favorite small person. I love you so much. I'm so grateful that you're here with me.

-Mama

Memories That Mean Something

As has been well documented in this particular space, I'm not a crier. I almost never just sit down and have a good cry simply for the sake of crying. If people are around--forget about it. As I've said before, if you've seen me cry, you're in a rather elite group of people. Even my current television obsession, This Is Us, doesn't make my eyes spring a leak in quite the same way that it makes the rest of the world. I love it, don't get me wrong. It's perfect and poignant and almost always spot on, but I've only choked up a handful of times.

Last night's episode did me in. I mean, I can't even talk about Randall's character without losing it. "My whole childhood, I felt split inside." And then teen Randall, "It's like a ringing in my ears and, uh, it quiets down sometimes. It can quiet down so much I almost forget it's there, but then, there are sometimes where it's so loud, I just feel alone." I was basically a wreck thinking about my boys.

But that's not even what I want to talk about. I want to talk about Sylvester Stallone.

"So it's a funny thing, when you think about it, time. Your sister sings a couple of bars of Rocky and for a split second I can smell the ring again. And then she tells me that when you were little kids, you watched a lot of my movies, and I'm thinking for a moment about my kids when they were little. The messy hair. The matching pajamas and all that stuff. And I swear to you I can see it all so very clearly I could just reach out and touch it. In my experience, Kevin, there's no such thing as a long time ago. There's only memories that mean something and memories that don't."

I thought about Kate. Which is weird. Because I don't really have any memories of Kate. I never saw her running down the stairs in her pajamas to see what Santa had left under the tree. I never heard her voice or danced with her or snuggled her into bed. I never saw her kick a ball, climb a tree, or twirl in a frilly dress. My memories of her are mostly painful.

But even those excruciating memories mean something. I see it all so clearly I could just reach out and touch it. Her tiny body in my arms feels like yesterday. The way I could feel every nerve buzzing when I heard that she was gone forever. The sound of my own heartbeat banging loudly in my ears. Trying to get off the phone because I thought I was going to die, right then, and I needed to do it alone.

I visit her grave and sometimes I say hello to a soul that isn't there, wipe the dirt off her name, and get back in the car. And sometimes I want, inexplicably, to dig her up, cradle her once again, and breathe life into her dry bones.

My friend recently lost a baby to stillbirth. She asked me if I would share some of the things we did to honor Kate. In the course of our conversation, I said, "Thank you for asking me. I don't pretend to know what it is like to give birth to a stillborn baby and I really appreciate that you just look at me as a mom who lost a baby. Not a lady who got too attached to a kid she never carried."

She replied and said, "I think of you as a mom of a stillborn. Not like that's your label. But it's part of your story."

And really, it meant the world to me to have her say that. In her own fresh grief, she accepted my long time ago sorrow. That's not an easy thing to do.

It's in the ebb and flow of grief that we learn to live. Like a surfer waiting for the next wave. Life is calm and serene and full but we know that the pulse of the ocean will bring another swell. On a birthday. When someone else experiences unfathomable loss. When Sylvester Stallone says that there is no such thing as a long time ago.

It was three years ago that I first heard about this birth mother who was pregnant with this baby. To some, three years is a long time. In those years I have loved and lost and loved again.

I cannot tell Will's story without telling Kate's. Two hearts. One birth mom. Sister. Brother. And a mama who isn't sure that there will ever be a day where grief doesn't surprise her in the strangest of places. My hair is tucked behind my ear the same way. My face, somehow, looks the same even though the circumstances could not have been more different. Devastation somehow filled with hope that the Lord would fulfill the promise He placed in my heart. Joy filled with sadness that he would never know the sister who first stole my heart. These are memories that mean something.

It's a funny thing, when you think about it time.
Your sister sings a couple of bars of Rocky, and for a split second I can smell the ring again.
And then she tells me that when you were little kids, you watched a lot of my movies, and I'm thinking for a moment about my kids, when they were little the messy hair, the matching pajamas and all that stuff and I swear to you, I can see it all so very clearly I could just reach out touch it.
In my experience, Kevin, there's no such a thing as "a long time ago.
" There's only memories that mean something and memories that don't.

Read more: https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=this-is-us-2016&episode=s02e03

Trash Collector

My 15 month old son has a compulsion to throw ALL THE THINGS away. To be fair, he has no earthly idea that the trash disappears and never, ever comes back. He just thinks the large plastic tub is another storage bin. Still, I've opened the lid of that can to find:

Dozens of packets of oatmeal

Matchbox cars

Water bottles

Sippy Cups

A box of aluminum foil

Dish towels

(partial list)

One day, in the not so distant past, our wee broom and dust pan disappeared. "Where could it be?" we four asked one another in confusion. It's a dust pan and broom. It does not grow legs and walk away. We searched high and low, low and high before declaring it gone forever. There was simply nowhere that an object of its size could be hidden. Will must have thrown it away. I have no idea how many other items have been tossed without my knowledge. 

This past weekend, with my parents visiting, Will disposed of three of his beloved Weebles (the kind that wobble but don't fall down). We searched in cabinets and under furniture. We dug through bins of toys and drawers of clothing. At one point, there were four adults and two elementary school children simultaneously hunting for Willy, Winston, and Wendy Weeble. One of those elementary aged children claimed to have looked in the trash can not once but twice. However, upon an adult searching the receptacle, the missing Weebles were discovered. This was splendid good news because the Weeble family and their tree house just happen to be at the top of the list of Will's most favorite toys.

My mother suggested a locking trash can so that nothing too terribly important got hauled off to the dump. My brother and sister-in-law have one so she knew just what to look for. Off we went in search of a wastebasket that was smarter than my toddler. She texted my sister-in-law. "Where did you get your locking trash can?" My sister-in-law replied, "Tessie or Will? I'm guessing Will." You don't have to live near family to have a finger on the pulse of their circumstances. Also, they have a two-year-old. She said she'd gotten it at Walmart or Target. We couldn't find any locking cans at Walmart but Target didn't disappoint.

Meet my new trash can. 

Will is HIGH energy. He's into everything. He screams like a crazed banshee when he doesn't get his way and I've told many a teacher that he's going to be the kid who needs his own private desk in the corner and, maybe, Ritalin. I'm joking. Maybe. I hope. But the thing about that kid is that he has a mechanical mind. I know it's a weird thing to notice about a toddler but he observes the way things work. He watches his brothers do things. He tries to copy them. I recently discovered that he knows how to unscrew bottle caps which I happen to think is COMPLETELY NUTS for a kid who doesn't even regularly say, "Mama."

That kid marched over to the new trash can. He tried to open the lid and inside I laughed a maniacal and somewhat evil laugh. "Muahahahahahahaha!" His grand plans to throw away ALL THE THINGS was foiled at last. Will dropped to his hands and knees. He peered, quizzically, at the foot pedal. He looked behind and beside the trash can. He stood back up. Examining the lid, he ran his hand around the lip. Then he placed both hands on the locking latch and pulled. That happens to be the exact way to open the trash can. He is mighty but he is still quite small and even the bigger boys have to pull pretty hard to get the lock to open. Will was unable to muster enough force to actually succeed. But I'm convinced that, had he been strong enough, he would have figured out that trash can in approximately three minutes.

This leads me to believe that he will grow up to be a mechanic or an engineer or a rocket scientist. But, it is ENTIRELY possible that he wants to be a trash collector.

Happy Birthday, dear Will

Dear Will,

There's no way I could have known, one year ago, the way you would change me, the happiness you would bring me, the incredible blessing that you would be to me. Twelve months ago, when you came into the world, I didn't even know it. I was watching a softball game and laughing with friends and then, two states away, you were living and breathing and existing.

I didn't know. For two entire days.

But then, when you were two days old, this picture of you came across my phone.

I don't think I used to believe in love at first sight. I loved your brothers the moment I saw them but when I saw them they were tangible and squishy and in my arms. It may well have been love at first snuggle. But you, Will, I loved the second I saw your picture. I loved a photo so intensely that I couldn't stand the thought of being away from you for one more second. I became a powerful believer in love at very first sight.

You were wonderful, precious, delicious--even. I almost couldn't believe that you were mine. I took twenty gazillion pictures of you, knowing that, though the nights were long, you would stay like that for no more than a quick minute.

Summer faded into fall and we tried to figure out how to get you to sleep without being swaddled. It was rough. I thought we might have to send you off to college with a large blanket, some strong Velcro, and solid instructions for your roommate on how to wrap you tightly. We pushed through and, it turns out, you won't even go to preschool still needing to be swaddled. Your pacifier is another story. That thing may be hanging out of your mouth in the third grade.

Seasons are prone to moving quickly. One jumps on top of the other and soon, an entire year has gone. How much quicker they go when raising children. Fall turned to winter and on that first day of the season marked by snow and frigid temperatures, we officially adopted you. It was a beautiful day and my mama heart--the one that always hopes and always believes but is always just a little afraid that something might happen--exhaled a sigh of love and dreams and endless possibilities. 

You. Were. Mine.

The winter turned into "Little Bit Warmer Winter" which, in most places, is called spring. You didn't seem particularly bothered by the cold weather of winter or "Little Bit Warmer Winter" which is weird because you spent your womb-months in Riverside. It is H.O.T. in Riverside. But, you are definitely my kid and a So Cal boy because you will remove your socks and shoes at every opportunity. You want to be barefoot all the time, with your feet in the sand and a non-alcoholic umbrella drink in your hand. (I'm guessing on those last two but, I mean, who doesn't?)

"Little Bit Warmer Winter" has turned into "Hot Summer" even though summer won't officially be here for another two and a half weeks. You've taken to playing in the backyard, swinging in your new swing from Grandpa Jon and Grandma Ginny, splashing in your new water table from Grandpa Gary and Grandma DeDe, climbing on your brother's old helicopter toy, and working on your tan. I assume your olive complexion will turn sun-kissed brown in a matter of days.

You are determined, noisy, strong-willed, feisty, joyful, and smiley. There is so much personality in your teeny tiny body and you are so full of life that I sometimes wonder if you'll just spontaneously burst and send glitter and confetti flying everywhere. Your smile lights up the entire room. Your giggle ripples through us all until there is a symphony of laughter that shakes our world in all the best ways.

You crawl at lightning speed, toddle everywhere, and aim to destroy absolutely everything absolutely all the time. One of us has to redirect you every 2.7 seconds because you will almost positively kill yourself if we give you a five second head start. Outlets, cords, and heavy objects would be your toys of choice if we turned our backs for only a moment. You will, occasionally, play with your actual toys but are much more fascinated by ALL THE THINGS IN THE WHOLE WORLD that are not toys. On her resent visit, your Grandma DeDe commented that everyone should just get you random household items for your birthday. You were thrilled to play with her dental floss for a good ten minutes. I'm thinking of taking your presents back and getting you your own checkbook, a set of Tupperware, several rocks, a ballpoint pen, and disposable baking tins. Because those are, quite literally, your favorite toys.

You eat ALL THE FOOD. Certainly, you have your favorites and bread is not among them. I worry for you in this family. If it's true that you are what you eat, your oldest brother is a walking carbohydrate. While you enjoy taking a few bites of pancakes and toast before throwing chunks on the floor, your favorite foods include blueberries, bananas, vanilla Greek yogurt, carrots, and beans.

You carry around burp cloths like blankies, enjoy throwing--but not reading--books (I will persevere. I will win. You will, ONE DAY, sit in my lap for more than three pages. Annnd, dude. It's not like I'm asking you to sit through three pages of Dostoevsky. We're talking about cardboard books about farm animals and dinosaurs for crying out loud!), find Peek-a-boo to be utterly hilarious, enjoy bath time, love your brothers and your dog and cat and the hamster (who does not love you but, can you really blame her? Her experience with you is limited to a couple of very rough encounters.), and you thoroughly enjoy babbling incomprehensible chatter.

You say, "All done," although it sounds more like, "ahduh!" You say, "Dada," although less so lately. You, apparently, say, "MOM!" but only when I'm not around to hear it. And that is about it. It's fine. If I had a child who attempted to speak before he was twenty months old, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Eh. Einstein didn't talk until he was four and it turned out alright for him.

They say that in parenting, the days are long but the years are short. I don't even know if the days seem so long to me anymore. I've got your big brothers as proof that the world just keeps spinning faster and faster with each phase of the moon. But it does seem impossible that almost a year has gone by since I first saw your face on my phone, since I first stepped up to your bassinet in the hospital and laid eyes on you, since I first lifted your tiny body up into my arms and snuggled you in to the place right next to my heart, where my love for you had grown for all those many months.

Happy Birthday, Will. It's been an amazing year.

 

The way that God designed things, a rainbow often appears after a storm, giving hope of better things to come. That is why a baby born after the loss of a child is called a Rainbow Baby. The literal definition of a rainbow is an arc of prismatic colors appearing in the heavens opposite the sun and caused by the refraction and reflection of the sun's rays in drops of rain.

Will, you are prismatic colors--vibrant reds, oranges, yellows, blues, and violets. You are the reflection of sunshine. You are all I waited for and so much more. Everything about you is warmth and wonder, crisp and clean. You are the way the world looks after it has poured down rain, after a storm has wreaked havoc, after the sun has come back out again and made everything new.

"There may be storms that rip up your world, but heaven can come down and brush a rainbow across all that pain like a sacrifice--and make you believe the promise of justice and wholeness to come." -Ann Voskamp

You are the rainbow that Heaven brushed across my life. Happy Birthday, dear Will. Happy Birthday to you.

Love,
Mama