Dear Son A,

Congrats! You are now nine months (and one day) old. Soon you will have spent more time out of the womb than in the womb: kinda crazy to think about. Today at your nine month well child appointment we noticed a growth on our beloved nurse Kim: yep, she’s having one of your kind – in June!! A little girl. She told us we should have another one, to try for a girl. I scoffed and said that’s no reason to have kids: it doesn’t look like it necessarily worked for the Osmonds (seriously: that many boys, and the last one a girl who now has a career pushing scary looking dolls – not healthy).

Yep, you had your nine month well child appointment today. And Beloved Dr. Tami says you are well, despite my feelings that you might be otherwise. Because kid: you’re little. Back down to the 10th percentile. A whole seventeen pounds and six ounces. Your cousin weighed more at his four month appointment! Dr. Tami says it’s due to your incessant bouncing. And we all know, you do tend to bounce. This past weekend I could’ve hired you out as a personal trainer: you had people bouncing you with their arms and their legs, running you around in circles, tossing you in the air or dropping you — all in an attempt to keep you happy. Because, man, nothing lights up the room like that grin of yours.

Which Beloved Dr. Tami noted immediately. “This kid cracks me up! He’s going to be so much trouble: he’s just going to flash that grin and get out of anything! He needs to be a middle child – that way he’ll lose some of that clout. Middle children are notorious for getting into trouble.” Hmmm, now who was a middle child, doctor?

So we’re working on feeding you more. Because apparently, even though you aren’t a fan of the pooing process, you need solids. This week JJ and I whipped up some tasty green peas for you, followed by blueberries and bananas. When you see the brightly colored IKEA bowl coming towards you, your mouth starts warming up for the swallowing process – you wouldn’t want to be caught unprepared.

You also have become somewhat of a food snob. I broke into the camp’s kitchen this weekend to raid their cereal bar stash for some cheerios (which is why they probably don’t dig having Quakes at the camp all that much: we tend to think we own the place). I fed you one, and your face scrunched up. You kept eating, but with each O, you let it be known that you recognized they were not Cascadian Farms Organic Whole Grain Purely Os. Soon you’ll be telling me the reason you didn’t drink out of bottles or sippy cups is because you were uncertain of the BPA levels in the plastics. Stay away from those parenting safety blogs, I tell you!

Since the recent posts have been full of you paparazzi experiences, I’ll sign off with some video of you. The first one is of your sleeping on the floor before you had dinner: I like how your first reaction is to reach for the pacifier – my little junkie. The second video occurred while I was aquajogging my little brains out and your pappy was trying to get through the evening. And yes, those are your regular organic o’s, oh consumer of the finest of foods.

Thanks for being my daily sunshine, Cheerio-boy.

Love, Ma

Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | 2 Comments »

This weekend I went to the coast. I packed up my suitcase, filled a bag with edible goodies (well, edible for others – molasses cookies, choco/butterscotch cookies, peanut-butter filled pretzels — I went wild on my whole wheat tortillas and string cheese – par-tay!), unearthed my sleeping bag, and loaded up into my friend’s mini (van) for a time of laughter, fellowship, worship, and aloneness.

As alone as one can be when one also brings along one’s wiggly-worm with suction-cup-appendages son.

I took Little A.

This is his second trip to the coast. Last time I also brought our personal assistant (a.k.a. Hubby), but he couldn’t come this time because he doesn’t have the right bits and pieces for a Women’s Retreat (thank HEAVENS – for the bits and pieces part, not the not being able to come part). My friends all swore it would be okay: in fact, they threatened never to speak to me again if I didn’t come, which would mean the only verbal interaction I would get forever and ever would be with my children, and that’s just not a thought that sounds appealing at the moment.

But see, they don’t understand. They don’t know how Little A jumps faster and faster in his jumperoo when he thinks I’m going to pick them up, and then pounds and wails when I walk by. They don’t know how I have to hide in the kitchen from him at night while he’s with Hubby, because if I pass by and he glimpses me, he wails just like the local firefighter alarm call. And they’re not familiar with a) my children’s imperative need for naps and 2) their seemingly inability to sleep unless they are in Lock Down mode (i.e. limbs pinned within an inch of their lives).

They know now.

Actually, it was a wonderful weekend. I enjoyed hanging out with folks I don’t see on a regular basis. I cracked up watching friends throw around marshmellows while blindfolded. I inwardly laughed seeing my friends, after a long talk about natural foods and picking on certain things that contained too many transfats or high fructose corn syrup or not truly organic enough elements, eat oreos and gushers and gummi bears.

And Little A and I bonded. Folks held him, of course. They needed baby fixes: he was helpful in that their baby needs soon passed as he squirmed and craned to see me and jumped and jumped and jumped in their arms. But people stepped in despite his cuddlylessness and offered to take him he believed that if he were to stop pounding on me that the world would cease to function. And I feel a little more confident in my ability to handle him without Hubby (plus my arms got a lovely workout) — but boy howdy, was I glad to see Hubby when I got home, for many reasons.

Checking my email Monday morning I received a delightful message titled “no doubt written just for you” from a friend who seems to know me and my little ones so well. And so I’ll share this blessing with you, even if you can’t relate at the moment, because my oh my: how my children really enable my heart to walk (or jump) about on a different set of legs.

“Day Bath” by Debra Spencer from Pomegranate. © Hummingbird Press, 2004.
Reprinted with permission.

Day Bath
for my son

Last night I walked him back and forth,
his small head heavy against my chest,
round eyes watching me in the dark,
his body a sandbag in my arms.
I longed for sleep but couldn’t bear his crying
so bore him back and forth until the sun rose
and he slept. Now the doors are open,
noon sunlight coming in,
and I can see fuchsias opening.
Now we bathe. I hold him, the soap
makes our skins glide past each other.
I lay him wet on my thighs, his head on my knees,
his feet dancing against my chest,
and I rinse him, pouring water
from my cupped hand.
No matter how I feel, he’s the same,
eyes expectant, mouth ready,
with his fat legs and arms,
his belly, his small solid back.
Last night I wanted nothing more
than to get him out of my arms.
Today he fits neatly
along the hollow my thighs make,
and with his fragrant skin against mine
I feel brash, like a sunflower.

Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | No Comments »

When JJ was little, we took pictures:  lots of pictures.  Because, like all new parents, we thought, “How unique!  How quaint!  Our baby does things that *no* other baby does.  And we will document every minute little bit and then share it with others, because they will care.”  Now, we know better.

One time we sat taking pictures of JJ making faces, which actually turned out quite amusing, because he made about as many faces as Jim Carrey and his elastico-visage.  So the other day, feeling a little guilty that Little A hasn’t had quite the photog treatment, I flashed him till his little eyeballs should’ve fallen out.  The results:

Followed by:

And then we have:

Not to be outdone by:

Oh, and this one cracked me up:

Because it was so different from this one:

And then we thought we’d shake it up a bit:

This one, aw man, so crazy:

Wait for it, wait for it:

I know it’s a bit edgy, but:

And Tyra told us this one is fierce:

He was really starting to feel the burn:

But after much coaxing and affirmations that he’s gorgeous and his profile is just like Twiggy’s:

Whew:  that was exhausting.  I don’t know how he does it.  He finally sped away in his SUV, managed to run over my toe, and made his way to Starbucks for some puffs.

A day in the life:  I tell ya.

Little A Adventures | 6 Comments »

Dear Son A,

Do you know what tomorrow is? That’s what your Pappy asked you yesterday. To which you responded: Baph. Just like Mr. Peepers. You also hit things repeatedly just like he does. But I digress.

You responded: Baph. And Pappy said: That’s right! It’s your 2/3s birthday! Which means you have another doctor’s appointment in a month! You seemed a little introspective regarding that. I thought more about how you will be jubbly-free in four months which probably means you might need to eat actual food at some point. Since, you know, you’ll need some sort of nourishment. I suppose. It’s hard to Baph on empty. Although my friend’s mom’s friends juiced everything with the goal of someday living off of air. . . Yeah.

I’d feed you more solids if you would actually process them properly. But you’re a hoarder. You freely share smiles and drool and your political opinion, but the dumpage is lacking. Some would say: hurrah! Less diaper changes! But that whole Einstein equal-and-opposite-reaction thing means that the lackage of the poo creates an increase in the yowling, the hurt tummies, and the gruntage-with-popping-veins-in-the-head action. Perhaps you’ll be able to use those skills as a future American Gladiator: they don’t seem to mind the popping veins and lack of verbage.

Oh, my little Mama’s Boy, some days I don’t know what to do with you. You want to be held. But you want to be held with the caveat that you can use people as your human jungle gym: ah, the personal touch. Frequently after picking you up from the nursery I hear: Wow – I got a work out today. You’re helpful that way – a free personal trainer. Instead of barking at them to work harder, you just pick up the jumping pace. Always the encourager.

You also like to encourage me to pick you up. I walk by: happy noises. I keep walking: cranky noises. If I round the corner: wails and protests and threats to vote for the candidate who will prosecute irresponsible parents. Me thinks that would be Hillary: she does say it takes a village. But she also only had one kid, and I have your brother, aka. Turbo Tot or Dr. Entropy, as Granddaddy likes to call him.

Your brother thinks you’re pretty swell. And so far he doesn’t mind when you take his toys, mostly as long as he can play along or instruct you as to which toys would be suit your level of enjoyment. To which you certainly have an vocal opinion if he chooses wrong and he quickly replaces the toy saying: Sorry, Little A! Sorry! Here! Toy! Be happy! That’s enough! Quiet! That’s enough! Be happy! I can’t imagine where he picked that up.

So far you have no teeth. But you’re working the whole “But I’m Teeeeeeething” angle – like you have since about two months. Another way to be held and loved. But you are making strides in the mobility department. You’ve been army crawling for quite some time, sometimes up on all fours rocking back and forth. Mostly you use your new found moving talents to claw your way to me to, shockingly enough, be held. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found you at the foot of the stair wailing because “I’ve been left! Alone! And they’re never coming back! And I’m so voting for Hillary, and Granddaddy will never let me hear the end of it, but they forced me to! They did!”

But sometimes you roll simply for the pleasure of it. Or to get a toy. Mostly books. Which you gum into oblivion. Or sometimes you find your favorite toy on the floor: a spoon. It’s the only way I can get anything done in the kitchen. You find such simple joy in looking at the shininess, trying to shove the whole thing in your petite mouth, banging it on the counter. It makes me sing the Mr. Rodger’s song, but don’t worry, darling: your brother will always bring you a spoon. And a fork and knife to match. Because we must match in this house, you know.

Love, Ma

Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | 2 Comments »

Dearest Son A,

Hey!  You’re seven months and a couple of days!  Do you know what that means?  Only five more months of access to the jubblies . . . and a few other things, you know (but that’s a bit on the forefront of the scribe’s mind:  give me my girlies back).

It’s been quite a month.  You, and by “you” I mean you and your brother and your father and your slightly twitchy mother, have survived The Holiday Season.  And what a Holiday Season it was:  definitely qualifying for the use of capital letters.  Because we traveled:  oh, how we traveled.  On top of attempting to decorate the house, attend preschool and preschool programs, charm nursery workers at Bible Fellowship and MOPS and the occasional visit to church on a Sunday morning (novel idea), clean the house for visitors, bakebakebake, shopshopshop, find meaningful gifts for one and all, and maintain some sense of sanity and an attitude of cheer because “Dang it!  I did a lot of work for this, and you all are going to like it!”  Which is just why Jesus came to earth:  to make mothers force their families to be dressed up, enjoy fancy meals and activities that put them in a bad mood, and expect a joyful response – Christ with Us. 

In an attempt to visit all extended family and prepare for a cross country trip, we celebrated Christmas as a family on the night of the 22nd.   We threw on our pajamas, loaded up in the car, and drove around the ‘berg looking at houses that actually performed their civic duty by displaying Christmas lights.  We rate the neighborhoods.  And yes, the same neighborhood won again.  Your brother was happy to exclaim, “Christmas!  Right over there!” over and over while you managed to stay awake, chewing on your pacifier.

You and your brother had quite the time opening up presents.  I didn’t think you’d really care about what was going on:  I was wrong.  Whanging on and ripping packages open is definitely a gift:  I think you’re going to rock at the gopher game at Chuck E. Cheese.

You’ve mastered the art of rolling.  To both sides!  So now I don’t have to come downstairs to find you stuck against the couch or the wall and flip you around so you can roll to the other side.  Although now I don’t know where I’ll find you:  please don’t find the stairs yet – we haven’t figured out LittleA Confinement 2008 yet.  I mean, we’re still working on JJ Confinement, but I have a feeling that project will take a couple of decades, and a team of engineers or Discovery Channel type people.

After we had a great Christmas with your Nana and Papa and K & G & JO, we hustled up to the Valley to have Christmas number three (and a small rest) with the Gran, Granddaddy, and Unca Matt before heading out on a cross country voyage entailing leaving the Valley at 3:30 in the morning and returning at 2:00 in the morning a few days later.  We were tired.  And we found out:  much like your uncle, you like home.

How do we know that?  Because you don’t sleep.  And you don’t eat well.  And your vocalizations tend to be of a fussy and discontent nature.  Which, let me tell you, people on an airplane just *love* to hear.  Fortunately, you could not resist your Pappy’s LockDown:  once limbs are contained, you lose consciousness.  It’s your Achilles’ heel.

But you looked pretty as you strutted your stuff at your first wedding.

Your Pappy didn’t look too bad, either.

And while you were fussy, the amazing thing is that your extended extended family didn’t mind.  Upon meeting them, we were not in fine form:  we’d had a long day and were not really on speaking terms (because when I’m tired,  I prefer to go to your level of maturity:  it’s shorter).  But they swept you away and doodled you all around the room.  And these were the guys!  They said things like, “No worries:  this is how babies are.  What a happy little guy!”  And I started to believe them.  That was nice.

You weren’t so hip to actually experience the wedding:  you know, the event that we meticulously packed for and cleaned up the house and stopped the paper and drove across states to then fly across many many states and stay in a hotel and watch lots of episodes of “What Not to Wear” when killing time and had folks scrape together baby gear like pack’n'plays and car seats and extra bits of sanity for.  Instead, we sat in the lobby of the church with your dad’s cousin’s wife and her two boys who felt similarly.  Lo and behold, you brother wandered out as well:  he knew where the party was at.

M & I bonded sharing stories about active boys (‘theoretical’ stories, of course) and expressing our thoughts on having big events during the holiday season (cah-ray-zee); so you better be careful, if you don’t want to be shipped back to Ohio anytime soon (although I think she’d be sending a reciprocal package our direction).

So we’ve returned back to normal life, whatever that may be.  The day after getting home we went to Beloved Doctor Tami’s to find out that you’re 26.5 inches long (50th percentile), 16.2 lbs. (20th – way to go up!  I think it’s all in your cheeks), and something healthy for your heads size.  I can’t really remember all the details:  I was more busy throwing cotton balls at your brother (a great diversion for both parties involved) and ignoring the fact that they were going to poke your precious little squishy thighs with nasty nasty things that in the long run will make you feel better but at the moment is notsofun.  Although it did help you sleep.  For like, you know, 12 hours.

Apparently the cotton ball action helped your brother sleep better as well.

(He fell asleep listening to The Philadelphia Chickens album:  it’s an exhausting compilation.  His dad thinks he’s all ready for college life now, falling asleep listening to an Ipod while on the couch).

But it didn’t last long until life returned to its normal toy-infused frenzy.

Because you play with toys.  And you sit.  And you eat all sorts of rice cereal.  And you think your brother is the best toy you got for Christmas, especially when he runs in circles and falls on the ground.  Because that’s the kind of humor that runs in our family lines:  classy and refined.

It’s been rainy outside, which I find as a giant soul suck.  But you’re at this wonderful age where you like to sit on my lap and be the best, warmest heater ever.  And I feel that joyous heat seep slowly into my soul.  Even though some of my tiredness may have something to do with you (Please.  Sleep.  Better.  Pleeeeeeease.), I can’t help but laugh as I hear you babbling in your recently introduced Big Boy Crib in the morning.  We look out the window no matter what the weather and ponder what the day holds.  And I’m thankful for one of my greatest Christmas presents of all.

Love, Ma.

Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | 4 Comments »

The holiday season brings all sorts of joy and cheer.  The loveliness of watching folks who rarely shop attempt to navigate the store.  And better yet, the foolish mortals who think they can work the self checkout without regular usage.  The happiness of school programs where parents stuff kids into uncomfortable clothes and then expect them to perform like the carrier monkeys that they are, except all they do is stand front and center with their hands firmly placed in their pockets and their lips locked shut.  Why this position cannot be assumed while working the aforementioned self checkout in a curious question of nature.  The pleasantness of tykes being hyped up on a constant stream of available crack sugar and then acting out when their schedules are completely turned topsy turvy, they’re given tons of attention, and then they keep hearing “stand straight!  stop moving!  be quiet!  but say thank you!”

And then there are the photos.  Oh, the photos.  The pictures in front of the Christmas tree.  The pictures before the opening of presents.  The pictures during programs and Santa visits and tree cuttings and Christmas parties.

We happened to catch one set of pictures with the boys that are actually pretty cute.  They’re from Little A’s dedication (one blissfully lovely holiday day).

Little A:  You really want me to sit?  Sit up? Sit up with JJ?  Alone?  In a chair?

Both:  Are we cute?  Are we done?  Is that all?

JJ:  I wonder how far I can push Little A over before he rats me out.

Little A:  Why are you kissing me?

JJ:  Cause they told me to.

Little A:  Seriously?  Since when did you start listening to them?

JJ:  Listen:  it’ll make them stop taking pictures faster.

Little A:  I dunno:  Ma’s got a twitchy photo finger.

Brudders.

JJ Jawings, Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | 2 Comments »

After getting up with the preschooler twice and the mad roll-overer three times in the beginning, middle, and end of the night, it can be easy to be a bit . . . how shall we say . . . cranky?  But my friend Meredith posted a wonderful practice of listing her favorite things.  And so I shall list my favorites as well as the favorites of the wee folk in the house in an attempt to realize they do enjoy things and are not just out to get me.

Starting from the smallest in body size:

Orley

• Sleeping under the Big People’s bed
• Sleeping on the Big People’s bed
• Waiting underneath the Big People’s Bed to stalk the Female Big Person until she slips into bed and then leaping out, jumping on the bed, and walking all the way up her side to sleep on her shoulder which I know she loves because she sighs (contentedly, I’m sure) every time I do it and mutters something about “never getting space” and “having to be mastered by all the males in the house.”  I know she loves it

Little A

• Attention
• Having control over my pacifier, taking it in and out of my mouth, thereby controlling my verbosity (i.e. not allowing the Big People to control my verbosity):  I control the horizontal, I control the vertical.
• My brother and the natural whirlwind he creates wherever he goes:  I may grow up to be a tornado chaser – it’ll be just like being at home.
• Rattles.  I actually play with rattles!  As opposed to my brother, who played with humans, bending them to his will.  I don’t have to do that:  if I can bend my brother to my will, then I’m golden.
• Rolling over.  I’m a rolling fool!
• Oatmeal and applesauce.  Fed to me by the Female Big Person.  She should be in charge of feeding *always*.  Because she makes lovely faces when I request for her to be my server, and she makes funny muttering noises.  Funny lady.
• My lion on my carseat.  Bangy bangy bangy.
• Moonlight rendevous with the Big People, particularly the Female Big Person (see aforementioned lovely faces and funny noises).
• Attention

Jacks

• Attention
• Food
• Attention
• My blue plastic bone that I work at picking off the teeny tiny pokey bits that are meant for oral stimulation but I can’t handle that much stimulation because I’m all twitchy like.  Hence, the constant picking.
• Attention
• When the Female Big Person flops over onto her stomach in bed and lets her arm (I’m sure on purpose) hang over the edge to I can walk underneath it and help her pet me.  If she groans, then I lick her on the nose to let her know she *wants* to pet me.  I’m sure she does . . . .
• Attention

JJ

• Singing songs, even though I make up most of the words “E-E-N-G-O spells his name-O” and “oh my DAHlin lemontine”.
• Telling the Big People what they need to do:  “mama, come on”  “mama, look at my face”  “Little A:  quiet!  You understand?” “mama, you say ‘yes, sir, JJ!  yes, sir!’” (and boy howdy, does his mama love it as well)
• Playing with dinosaurs – with Big People.
• Playing with cars – with Big People.
• Playing with beans – with Big People.
• Telling Mama about how I take toys out of people’s hands and go to time out at school.
• Reading stories, especially unwrapping a Christmas book every night until Christmas time.
• Bath time.  With Mama.   And then spelling words.  With Mama.
• Elmojoestevebluecwiffordboblarrycookweemonster.  All.  At.  Once.
• Stickers from the store.
• Praying at night when I pray for family members and friends and school and the store and the library and friends and ABCs and 123s and friends and the store.
• Helping my brother understand that he will be much happier with a pacifier in his mouth being quiet in the arms of the Big Person I don’t want to play with so that I can play with the Big Person I *do* want to play with.
• Turning on the Christmas lights in the morning.
• I can’t remember:  did I mention playing with Big People?

Dren

• No attention
• The lock on my bathroom door (although it’s often used by JJ to lock out everyone else except him and Mama).
• My ipod  (listening to Satellite Sisters over the yowlers is quite enjoyable)
• Hearing “Mama bake cookies with JJ?” every night
• Seeing Little A smile with delight at folks captured by his charm
• Women’s Bible Fellowship:  and childcare!  Women who *want* to play with my kids!  And tell me:  this, too, shall pass.  Ah, Great GranMaribeth – my patron saint.
• A hubby who says, “Bad night?  You know what, I’m going to come home after lunch and stay at home.”  Of course, I tell him to stay at work, but still:  aw.
• My hubby.  And his dimples: they’re just so cute (and so are all my boys’ dimples).
• A Gran and Granddaddy who come down to visit, take us out to lunch, bring gifts of food and clothes and ornaments and homemade breast pads and say nothing but affirming words to everyone in the house.
• A decaf sugar-free something-or-other Americano from Chapters:  mmmm.
• My friends who can still laugh with me even though we recognize we’re all a little on the looney side.
• Singing “Feliz Navidad” with my brother:  chh chh chh chh.
• Driving around the week before Christmas looking at Christmas lights.
• Peace on earth, good will towards men – or a solid night’s sleep.

JJ Jawings, Little A Adventures, Mama Musings, Random Remarks | 1 Comment »

Dear Son A,

Happy day after your half birthday!  As you will come to understand, in this household we celebrate the half birthday, sometimes with more fondness than with the actual birthday because a) it gives us something to look forward to instead of having to wait a *whole* *year* to be happy that you were born and 2) I’m me.

So what did we do to celebrate the fact that on this day six months ago I regained my ability to hold more than a tea cup full of fluids in my bladder?  Not a whole lot to be honest:  sorry to let you down.  But see, my mind is not functioning at full capacity so much at the moment, what with the holidays ever looming, the preschooler ever climbing, and the babe never sleeping.  What was that last bit?  Oh, that’s right:  you.  Lack of sleeping.  Makin’ the mama a little crazy in the head.  And if you think you need to help me be any more quirky than I already am, thanks for the help, son, but we’re all stocked up on loony around here.

I’m trying to think back over the past month, but it’s a bit hazy, kinda like trying to remember college.  Which, funny enough, your father and I had our first final together ten years ago this week.  Except neither one of us remembers the other being in class with the other one because, well, we weren’t in class all that much.  Which, again, was funny because the class was Ethics.  Skipping.  Ethics.  Doesn’t seem quiet kosher, eh?

So, let’s see:  what did we do this past month?

You learned how to make rolls with Gran for Thanksgiving.  These are special rolls.  These are the rolls we have at all family celebrations because they are So Good.  So good that your uncle tries to live off of them.  So good that he will take an entire roll and shove it in his mouth and make a happy noise, much like you do when your pacifier is inserted.  I think if these rolls were distributed worldwide we would have peace on earth and good will towards men, and even if they had something cranky to say, they couldn’t:  because their mouths would be full.

You’ve gained the love for the Jumperoo.  This contraption, large and obnoxious as it is, is a LifeSaver.  Your brother bounced and bounced and bounced in it.  We pulled it out when his legs were too short and we had to put photo albums underneath so he could reach and boingyboingyboingy to his heart’s content.  Either your legs are longer, or we waited a while, but you too have an appreciation for all things bouncy.  You love it so much that you try to incorporate jumping into all of your activities:  sitting on people’s laps, sitting in your high chair waiting to spit food at us, nursing.  Yes, nursing.  Though I may look like a large plastic contraption with bells and whistles and shiny plastic figures, I’m not.  And my jubblies have not been approved by the Fisher Price folks to have the elasticity to hold up to the constant boingyboingyboingy.  Please, refer to your owner’s manual:  mama’s jubblies don’t work that way.

You’ve gained the reputation of being The Happiest Baby!  Everywhere we go, folks always comment on your natural sunshine:

“Look at that smile!”

“Oh, he’s just so sweet!”

“What a happy boy!”

Of course, they don’t see the other side.  The side that comes out at night.  To quote a well-referenced poem (at least in my Home of Origin):

There was a little girl
who had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead
and when she was good
she was very good indeed
but when she was bad she was horrid.

What’s that on your forehead? . . . .  If your Daytime Self could teach your Nighttime Self some matters regarding well-being, contentedness, pleasantness, and the general “This is the way you should act so that you are not shipped in a box to Abu Dhabi”, that’d be great.

You experienced your first snow.  Which really was nothing:  just a bit of wandering fluff that didn’t stick.  But still:  it wasn’t rain – it was pretty white flakes that fell from the sky.  Which meant you had to come on your first “Hey:  it’s snowing!   We must walk in the pretty whiteness!” walk.  I used to do this when I lived in Boise:  my roommate and I would walk around our neighborhood, come across a big untouched field, and run in circles because we were 23ish and we could.  There certainly was not enough snow to make pretty designs in, but there was enough that we felt the need to get hot donuts and big peanut butter cookies.

And now you’re getting to experience your first Christmas.  Not that you really care at this point.  The lights on the tree are nice.  The constant shuffling of the 25+ Christmas cds in the stereo is enjoyable.  You mostly enjoy that folks at the store are wearing antlers and that your brother seems to be on a constant sugar-high.

So, if I could put a wishlist in for Christmas from you I would ask:

• that I could get some time to be unconscious for a few sleep cycles:   cause waking me up in the middle?  Every night?  It hurts, my friend:  don’t be a hurter.
• that you could continue to eat solids like you did last night, chowing down on rice cereal and applesauce like it’s old school.  Food is your friend.
• that you could reread that Mama Users Manual regarding jumping and eating.
• that you could keep getting cuter and smilier and bringing that sunshine and delight you seem to have bursting forth from your sweet darling soul into the world:  we need it.

Love, Ma

Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | 4 Comments »

Dear Son A,

You’re five months, and a bit.  Which as you’re learning, it’s not unusual for me to write you your month letters a few days late.  Although it is fairly pathetic since I’ve been posting every day due to Nablopomo.  But due to my lack of sleep (which you may or may not have something to do with:  I’m trying not to point any online fingers), I’m a bit fuzzy with dates.  Because I thought yesterday was your five month birthday.  But it wasn’t.  It was Sunday.  So I figured hey:  I can wait another day because I’d rather post happy youtube clips – they’re faster.  And another product of my lack-of-slumber is my tendency to talk in one really long sentence.  Which this paragraph really is:  I’m just putting in periods for those who don’t dig the Jane Austen writing style (i.e. TAKE A BREATH AND USE A PERIOD UNLESS THOSE WERE INVENTED ONLY DURING THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION IN WHICH I TAKE BACK MY ALL CAPITOL LETTERS RANT pleaseandthankyou).

So enough about that.  On to you.  Because that’s what this blog post is all about:  you.

I wish that I could write more specifics about how you’ve grown, changed, developed over the past month.  But honestly:  I can’t remember.  Gran will ask me what I did the day before:  can’t remember that, either.  At least I haven’t forgotten about *you* yet, although this morning when I was getting your brother ready for school and you were pleasantly babbling at the toy that hangs above you on the changing table, I did momentarily think as I was loading stuff in the car, “Something’s missing . . .”

Perhaps that’s why you’re the more “verbal” child.  Lordy, you talk.  “Aaah, ooooh, aaaah.”  Throughout most of the day.  You coo for the ladies at the store.  You giggle for your dad.  And you happily babble at your brother.  It’s so pleasant.  Except for, uou know, the times that you’re yowling because “the sky is falling:  someone is not holding me:  this is not right:  oh, the injustice of it all.”  Or “call child services:  I’m starving and have not had my feeding needs met when I had an inkling that I was hungry:  but wait, what is this boob thing you’re giving me?  I hate it, and I’m never going to be full again!  Oh wait, shiny pacifier . . .” or “I . . . . HATE . . . . SLEEP!!!!”  You know, those times.

I must admit I’m not on top of what you’re “supposed” to be doing developmentally.   A friend with a younger baby asked, “Is he sitting up?”  With your brother I knew exactly what he was supposed to be doing and when:  and he did it on the nose.  For you, I’m happy to know that you’re fed, dressed, and have not been packed away in a box by your brother who gets a little irritated when you’re irritated:  “Little A!  Hush!  Now!”  Hmmm:  however could he have come up with that phrase . . .

So, I don’t know what you’re “supposed” to be doing.  But I can tell you some of the things you do do.

• You do not poop for 36 hours if fed rice cereal.  And then the motherload happens.  I’m honestly scared to take you out when I think we’re due for The Arrival and warn people not to squish you too much.

• You enjoy eating sweet peas.  Hopefully your tookus enjoys getting *rid* of sweet peas as much.

• You like to arch your back.  Rolling over – not so much.  But arching is big fun.  I think it’s your way of being non-committal:   am I on my back?  Or my belly?  Or neither?  Tricky . . .

• You enjoy taking your pacifier out of your mouth.  And sometimes you enjoy putting it back in.  And I have an inkling that you use this power for evil sometimes, say if you want attention, so you throw your pacifier out and yowl and I put it back in to quiet you down and then resume my activity (which usually is driving) and you flick it back out again.  My favorite is when you throw it under your brother’s car seat.  Your dad doesn’t so much like to hear how I’m driving down College while reaching for your plug cause, you know, I’m on the phone with him as well.  What can I say?  Moms can multitask in all situations (some are more safe than others).

• You like my Ipod.  Correction:  you like my headphones.  And want to use them.  Or at least do not want me to use them and grab the cord and wrap it in your teeny tiny freakishly strong fists.

• You love your brother.  When he comes in the room exclaiming, “Little A’s awake!  Mornin!  Happy to see you!” you smile.  Unless you’re wrapped in the Swaddle Blanket of Life and are fairly upset that no one has freed your arms, in which case you continue to voice the injustice of trapped limbs (if these scaring experiences cause you to become a lawyer, please be one that fights for human rights; otherwise, I fear you may become unbearable).  When JJ brings you toys, you pleasantly take them, but mostly you want to play with your favorite toy:  him.  He dances and sings and falls over, all just to make you laugh.  He’s your puppet.  Granddaddy commented that you probably won’t get into as much trouble as your brother, but I said that’s because you’ll be the evil genius planting the mischief in JJ’s head and then put on your innocent look:  “Don’t look at me:  I’m the good one.”

• You love your pappy.  When he comes home for the day and we’re sitting on the couch reading The Berenstein Bears and the Messy Room for the twelfth time that day, you stand up straight.  Then arch your back.  And start pumping your right arm.  *Always* with the right arm.  Over.  And over.  And over.  Whang.  Whang.  Whang.  It’s almost like you’re one of those flashlights that don’t need batteries:  you just wind this handle which somehow charges it.  Perhaps that’s why you don’t dig the swaddle:  we’re inhibiting your life expression.  But if you could learn to be expressive at appropriate times of day (i.e. not all 24 of them), you can gain your freedom.  Until then, Pappy loves you, and Pappy loves you all sausaged up.

Love, Ma

Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | 1 Comment »

The older brother must play . . . or something like that (do you see the joy in someone’s eyes, and the panic in the other’s?).

Note:  I was upstairs minding my own business slaving over a hot stove to make a meal for my family (or probably reheating a meal from my meal swap group and strategizing my next Scrabulous move).

I heard noises about “stinky poo” and then the clunk of the closet doors where we keep things like the washer/dryer, the mop, and the diaper changing gear. . .

My multitasking mind finally realized, “Hmm.  What could he be doing?  JJ’s downstairs.  Little A’s downstairs.  ‘Stinky poo.’  Wait, did he say, ‘Stinky poo’?  Oh, Lord.”

Downstairs I found one de-diapered Little A laying on the changing pad with big brother JJ muttering about putting on the Rear Schmear.

Needless to say, Little A was a mite concerned about that.

If JJ could get the diaper on with the frontside front and stop getting distracted by “BUSTERS!” on tv, that might’ve helped.  That, and actually wiping Little A’s tookus before attempting to schmear and diaper could be helpful as well (don’t worry:  this Reality TV photographer didn’t have a contract stipulating non-interference).

JJ’s also wanted to be a helper in other areas, like giving Little A toys, giving him a bath, and feeding him:  some of those helps have been more effective than others. 

Daily Drivel, JJ Jawings, Little A Adventures | No Comments »