Monday, September 22, 2014

I Want to Hold Your Hand

I was saying to the Hubs the other day that I often think I am far too selfish to be a mother. I still want all my time to myself, I don't want to have to worry about what and when to feed somebody else, and I really like being able to read without little hands taking my book away.

But in the end, that's what Silly's early bedtime is for. Because I'm his mommy, and I'd better darn well live up to that. Sure, I have my moments when I feel my efforts to do so are completely inadequate, but then something happens that reaffirms that I'm not doing as badly as I frequently think I am. And it's usually something small, but it reminds me that I made the right decision to be a mom and it's worthwhile, enough so that I may one day overcome my self-centered tendencies.

This morning it was the simple act of him reaching out his hand to me to help him walk down the stairs. Taking his little hand in mine, knowing that he puts his trust in me to help him and keep him from falling as he takes on each step, I felt overwhelmed with peace and love for this chaotic child. Even though I make mistakes, he is forgiving (and forgetful) and still trusts me to take care of him and keep him safe. I almost started crying right there as we walked down the stairs and he jabbered on and on to me about who-knows-what.

And it's not as though this is a first-time occurrence! He's automatically reached out for me many times, and heaven knows I'm used to his incomprehensible jabber. This time just touched me and was a much-needed reminder that I'm this boy's mother, he needs me, and I love him. I may not always like him, but I do love him. So if he reaches his hand out to me, I'll take it.

Unless it's covered in peanut butter. Then I'll wipe it off first.


"Curse false-hand-holding boys!" -Lauren Myracle

Monday, September 1, 2014

Ode to Boy

Seeing as how I'm just now getting back in the groove of the blog (however temporarily it may be) and I have said barely a word about the kiddo, here's an update on him.

Nineteen months and still large and in charge! And doesn't he know it. This kid likes life . . . unless it's not going his way. (in particular, he doesn't like that we've instituted a lap time-out for when he's naughty.) His favorite toys are balls; he rarely goes out in the yard without either the tennis ball or the football. And boy, does he love to throw. Catching, on the other hand . . .

He has begun saying a couple words (thank heaven), so we're working on that still. He understands what we say, but I think he's just content to communicate on his own terms. He doesn't think he needs to talk, so he doesn't do it. Correction: he talks plenty, just not in a language we recognize on Earth.

He also loves cars and trucks. He much prefers the front yard to the back yard for this very reason. He just loves to watch the trucks drive by and wave at them. (he doesn't wave at individual people, but he will wave at the vehicles.) Our neighbors have all started to catch on to his presence when they drive by, and most everybody waves back at him.

Who couldn't love those baby blues?

You'd think that this would naturally mean he's always friendly. But he picks and chooses his friendliness, like any silly kid would. He likes to charm teenage girls at church and in our neighborhood. But being introduced into nursery at church last month was not an easy task for him. Whichever parent tried to drop him off was coerced into staying because otherwise he threw a tantrum. Glen enjoyed snack time, though, so there are perks to hanging out in nursery for two hours. Fortunately, after hearing horror stories from parents who had to stay with their kids in nursery for a year, it seems that Isaac's necessity for us lasted only a month. Two weeks so far without us! Let's keep it up, kiddo!

 Cool guys.

 Ready for church

Lots of people have been commenting lately on how he no longer looks like a baby and is becoming a little boy. To me, he just looks like himself most of the time, and then in a brief moment my "objective glasses" come on, I see a glimpse of how much older he actually is, and I am caught completely off-guard. What happened to that chunky baby who came with us to Roosevelt last year? Not that I'd give the toddler back, because he's lots of fun when he's not hitting us (hence the institution of lap time-out). But it's pretty amazing how much he's changed.


"Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years." -James Thurber