Year Two

Today Baby K is 14 months old! (Note: "Today" has since passed...) I just want to take a moment to sit and be astonished at how much this child has flourished in the past two months. It's really just remarkable. He's finally sleeping through the night (until 5 a.m. or even 6 a.m.) at least half of the week, so my year-long fatigue is at long last starting to wane. He is mimicing everything his brother does, good and bad. That means he'll pick up a plastic baseball bat and hand me a bouncy ball to throw to him...and he'll scream real ugly in my face when I won't let him do what he wants. And somehow both are equally amusing. He's a total book fiend, and the way he says "book" is the cutest ever--he doesn't say the "k" at the end, but let's his voice rise to a high pitch instead. So it's a two-syllable word. But he's so excited to find a book anywhere in the house, and will sit on your lap and point to random things in the book, make animal sounds at the ones he sees, and turn back the pages when we're done to find his favorite picture. When I ask him if he's ready to get out of the bathtub at night, he points to the towel hanging from the shower rod and says "boo-oo?", anticipating what's next.
I want to make a list of the words he's already saying because it's pretty astounding (to me, at least) when he's only completed 14 months of life as of today. It's so crazy to think about how much a human can accomplish in one year! Gosh, what happens to us as adults???!

Keane's (attempts at) words at 14 months:

• Mommy
• Daddy
• book
• baby
• ball
• bubbles
• cup
• cheese
• juice
• milk
• Elmo
• Ellie 
• on/off (same word for turning the light switch)
• hot dog (as in the Mickey Mouse hot dog dance, which Keane joins in with Declan on)
• bye-bye
• hey/hello
• hot
• Papa/Pop
• eat
• more 
• phone
• Ee-eye-ee-eye-oh
• woof, moo, quack, brrrr (elephant noise), bokbok (chicken noise)

I'm sure there are more yet. Seems like every day he says something that surprises me. Of course, most people wouldn't be able to understand his pronunciation of half the words, but I usually know exactly what he's saying! And he'll pretty much try to mimic anything you say. So if I go, Keane, can you say yesterday? He'll actually try. And I'm convinced he understands 80% of what we're saying most of the time. For example, if we're in the living room, and he brings me a coloring book to read, I can say "Keane, go in your room and get your Elmo book", and he's on it. Or, if I say "Don't you dare pull all of that food out of the pantry again," he'll do it. See? Genius!

And as you can see from his photos...his curls are simply out of control. I've tried once to trim the front of his hair because his bangs were in his eyes, but I haven't had the heart to cut the rest. It's just so crazy cute, especially since I know he got his hair from me...but I guess it is kind of starting to look like a girl. The dink sure thinks so too. When I wash K's hair in the bathtub, as I pour the water on his head and his hair falls straight for once down his neck, the dink loves to say at that moment, "Keane is a man!" As if the rest of the time he looks like a girl. Oh well, I think we'll celebrate it just a bit longer...

I'm just so thankful that we've finally ventured back into "normal" life after a stressful 2011, now with two sweet, predictable little boys and a comfortable routine that requires energy but is way more enjoyment than exhaustion. It feels good.

From Sweden, II

I’ve been away from my boys for 12 days now. Tomorrow I’m finally going home. I’ve been finding myself, as the days have passed in Sweden, fantasizing about each of them, as if we each have our own love story. I imagine what our reunion will be like, even though I know it’s always the hours following reunion that deliver the most meaning. I think of the way Keane smiles out of the corners of his mouth while he’s sucking his thumb, or holds his thumb between his gums for a moment to let the smile shine through. And I obsess about the way he smells, so similar to Declan’s scent at that age (has something to do with eating lots of bananas!), and just want to hold him sideways in my arms, bury my face in the crook of his neck to inhale his essence, and kiss him dozens of times. And I think about his typical reaction to me when I arrive to pick him up at daycare—reaching his arms out and grinning from ear to ear, sometimes clapping and sometimes bouncing up and down in excitement. Then I imagine that scene escalating, and us doing something unexpected and glorious, like laugh hysterically for five minutes, or reach out simultaneously for twenty wet mouth kisses in a row.

And for Declan, the sky’s the limit. I’ve done some Skyping with the dink while I’ve been gone, but half the time with no video and the rest of the time with him not sitting still in the right location for the video…and so I’ve spent some time focusing on the dink’s voice alone, which is something that I apparently never do. I think when he talks normally, I’m focusing on his little face and his actions, and not necessarily memorizing and savoring the sound of his precious southern three-year-old voice. It was almost as if I’d never heard him speak before when we talked on skype. I felt like, who is this voice—the words are all familiar but the sound of it, coming across the internet from an unfathomable distance away—that I’ve never heard so clear before. And I can’t wait to hear what that little voice will say when I see him again—probably start with something random like “you wearing black shoes, mommy?” and then move on to asking me a dozen times in the next few hours “you home, mommy?”…and then how many different ways will he ask me to snuggle with him and sleep with him and prompt me to say things like “My two boys!” as we sit together on the couch. He can say anything, honestly. I just want to reconnect those sweet words with those big, bright eyes and be with him.  

From Sweden, I

It seems almost implausible when I say it out loud, but here I am, in the middle of my second week in Sweden, the day before Valentine's Day, filing away a barrage of images of Swedish women pushing around Euro-mod strollers with babies in their depths--insulated, puffy, snow babies, with countless protective layers, hats, and blankets, with only pink noses peeking out and occasional cries when they're wheeled into a shop. And all I can think is—do people really live like this? And a second later, where oh where are my babies?

I may miss my boys like crazy, but it doesn’t take away from my assessment that Sweden is just a happy place. Despite the February weather, there are bright, shiny, tall people everywhere I look, going about their business with a calm pleasantness that, regrettably, you just don’t find in the US. They seem content, empathetic to each other. Example: It’s against the law to sell children’s toys that are guns here. I can’t help but think of how many (positive) implications that has on a society! But back to the boys. In daily life, I generally maintain the belief that I never get enough (or any) time to spend alone. And I like being alone; I always have. But this trip has certainly reminded me that most of what life has to enjoy is doubly enjoyed when sharing it with the ones you love.     

Birthday, at Last

Keane is almost fourteen months now, and I still haven’t covered his birthday! It was pretty identical to the one the dink had when he turned one—at Maman and Papa’s house with both his grandparents and his favorite cousins there. But if I compare the way that the two boys acted at their first birthday parties, it really shows (at least to me) their differences. I feel bad already for Keane because he is always measured in the way that he compares to his brother, but that is only because it’s the only point of reference I have. And we actually do the same for the dink now, only in hindsight. For example, I now know that the dink has had an inordinate thirst for milk and juice throughout his toddlerhood, and I realize that because his brother drinks half of what he did at the same age!

But back to the party. The dink’s main interest at his first birthday was crawling around chasing balloons. We could have, and probably should have, only gotten him a sack of balloons as presents because he had virtually no interest in each of the age-appropriate toys that were passed in front of him. Until the dink was 18 months old, I held the honest belief that all baby toys are unworthwhile and stupid because babies don’t actually learn how to play with toys until they’re toddlers. But turns out it was just my baby. Because K enjoyed the heck out of all of D’s infant toys that got no use the first time around. He actually shook rattles and held soft animals and even swung his arms at bright objects dangled above his head. And so he took an interest in all of his birthday gifts—just about the only things he can call his own. So that was the first notable thing to me at the party. The second notable thing to me is that my mom and Jon’s mom have a habit of buying the boys the same gifts. For D, it was the exact same little green four-wheeler for Christmas one year. Then at K’s baptism, they both gave him religious-themed nightlights. And for this birthday, a multi-leveled racetrack/garage for cars. Same brand and everything—just in different sizes. I don’t like to have to tell the grandparents what to buy the kids all the time, but I think at some point, I may have to make them at least run it by me for approval first!

The third and most notable thing at Keane’s birthday party was his genuine, enthusiastic, and absolutely precious enjoyment of being the center of attention. He’s doing so well with his talking, and he was actually trying to say “cheese” and giving out grin after grin at each camera that flashed at him. I had so many just perfect snapshots of him cheesing it up with his party hat on, opening presents and trying his cake…but unfortunately my camera freaked out some time after the party and spontaneously deleted all of those photos and others. But it’s a memory I’ll always keep. A really remarkable one to me when I reflect over baby K’s first year, and how unhappy and trying he was as an infant, and how I actually prayed that the first year would fly by so we could get out of the never-ending, fussy-baby period and finally arrive at the days of smiling, walking, playing, sleeping, and mutually enjoying each other and our lives. But I realized as K played nicely for his audience at the party and smiled accordingly, that we actually have finally arrived. (And each week since his party we have been arriving a little bit more.) So while I thank God for the first year of a life that he trusted me with, I also thank him for the possibility of a second, much easier one.  

Christmas

Still trying to catch up on my laziness over the past couple months. Seems like Christmas should be worth recounting, but as I'm sitting here at the end of January mulling it over, I'm having a hard time even remembering the memorable... Of course presents abounded. And of course the dink wanted every single item for himself that Santa Claus had given to Baby Keane. (Luckily, Santa Claus had some foresight and brought Keane things that were much too old for his age like a basketball, a stool, and a movie, since after all he has all of Declan's old toys already to play with and still only wants the item that Declan is occupied with at the moment.)

Anticipation was a major component of this year's excitement. Starting the week after Thanksgiving, daycare craft and music activities centered on reindeer, Santa, and baby Jesus. By the end of December, the dink could sing all of Jingle Bells, Frosty the Snowman, and Rudolph from start to finish, if not with the exact correct lyrics, with dead-on vim and vigor. Although I got tired some days of the dink asking me if tomorrow is Christmas and begging/crying to open a present already, I do think the waiting is good for a kid. And it also gave me a chance to plant the seeds of excitement in his mind for the gifts that were sure to come. (Gosh, D, your slippers are too small! Maybe Santa will bring you some new ones...) Naturally, I shopped my heart out for most of December, pleased with my efforts in buying the dink both things that he could use or would serve a purpose, as well as things he'd enjoy. In the final weeks leading up to the 25th, people were continually asking the dink what he wanted for Christmas, and his consistent response was of course something I hadn't even considered purchasing: a robot. But he told anyone who would listen that that's what he wanted, and when he sat on Santa's side at the mall and told him too that all he desired for Christmas was a robot, I knew I had more work to do. And needless to say, his lime green Radio Shack robot that my mom ended up finding at the mall was his favorite Christmas present. I just found out last night that  the darn thing already needs new batteries.

Keane was just happy for Christmas to be spending time with his family, in the middle of chaos and excitement. His most prized possession was a gift he didn't receive, but one we gave to his cousin Ellie--some wooden pots and pans. He spent an hour on Christmas Eve just putting the lid on the pot and off. I didn't feel too bad for not realizing the poor kid was dying to play cook because it gave me an idea for a gift for his birthday, only a week after Christmas. So Keane got a remarkably similar set to Ellie's for his first birthday, which of course he's hardly played with since.

And me, I got a new job for Christmas, complete with a two-week paid trip to Sweden for my initiation. That's coming up in only a few days now. With a start like this to the new year, I can't imagine what adventures 2012 will bring.

Two Chickens

Just for fun!

Declan, Halloween 2009:

Keane, Halloween 2011:

Catch-up

I don't know where I've been, neglecting to record the excitement and the cuteness of November and December! I've been making a real attempt to savor the moments, reminding myself in every frazzled event that one day the dink won't pronounce "l" like "w" and baby K won't stick his hand down the front of my shirt at every opportunity, and even more likely, I will actually get eight hours of sleep in a row sometime in the future...so I need to soak it up now.

So what's been happening? In November, the dink turned three, an event that we probably told him was upcoming way too far in advance because the anticipation nearly killed him, singing Happy Birthday to himself before bed at night for weeks. Halloween was a great distraction leading up to the big event, a night that probably ranked as "best day ever" for the dink, since he got to dress up in his cousin (hero) Caden's old Mickey Mouse costume and chase after Caden trick-or-treating all night. He was so intense about keeping up that he didn't even fuss once about his costume--actually kept the ears on his head and enormous white mittens on his hands all night while he jogged behind the big boys with his little plastic pumpkin. I don't think he even asked for a piece of candy until the next day!

And of course cousin Caden was an integral audience member in D's birthday celebration when it finally rolled around. We incorporated Declan's birthday into a Saints-watching and chili-eating Sunday afternoon with just a family crowd, which is all it takes to thrill the dink. I think his favorite presents were a bag of old Legos given to him by Samuel and Caden (and a box of new ones) and his very own baseball bat and tee, given to him by Papa and Maman. He also loved his little blue piggy bank that his Nana and Pop got him, although, like the Legos, he is only allowed to play with when baby Keane is asleep or otherwise distantly occupied for fear that he'll ingest any dimes or little plastic men.

We finished out November with a trip to Nana and Pop's for Thanksgiving, where we visited with the Nashville Womacks. On one of the nights there, we were supposed to have a get-together with Jon's cousins and their five kids who  the dink has met in the past but doesn't necessarily remember. Still...he was looking forward to the event. Unfortunately, he woke up from his nap sick that day, ran a high fever for a few hours and threw up all over the porch (and my lap). So our visit with the crew that night was reduced to a quick rendez-vous in the front yard, for just long enough for us to say hello, exchange a few gifts, and blow kisses goodbye. At some point when they all arrived, we told Declan he couldn't get up close to the visitors because he was sick, and it just broke his heart. His tears poured and he was just crying "I want to see my cousins." He ended up being held by Pop on the outskirts of the crew, and that ended up being okay. But it cracked me up how desperate he was to see anyone that might be labeled family--whether he knows them, recognized them, or not. Sometimes I wish that Jon and I had more siblings, especially that lived near, so that D could grow up like I did, with fourteen "cousins" to play with at every birthday party, Father's Day crawfish boil, or Easter egg hunt... But at least I think I can count on him always making the most out of what he has. He's pretty good for that.

Confusion

A three-year-old mind is a hard thing to grasp. Or maybe I should say that a three-year-old mind has a hard time grasping. The dink's a mess lately trying to get several important concepts straight:

1. Birthdays are for celebrating when you came OUT of Mommy's tummy, a place to which you never, ever return. Leading up to D's birthday, he kept telling me with concern in his eyes and fear in his voice, "I don't want to go back in Mommy's tummy," as if I were threatening to whisk him away from his home and family at any given point and absorb him back into my abdominal prison. I kept reassuring him that I would never, ever do that. And I guess he finally believed me because weeks later, following his party, he started at it again, but this time with a different request and a much jollier tune: "I want to go back in Mommy's tummy! Because then the doctor can pull me out and I can grow and grow and grow and have another birthday!!!" Sigh.

2. We don't eat our poo-poo. Gross, right? And it's not like he's ever tried, but the subject came up one day while the dink was sitting on Mommy and Daddy's potty (his favorite place to poop) and thinking deep thoughts. He has a habit of making these random statements to me, with a slight lift in his voice at the end of the sentence, not like he's asking a full-blown question, but like he's attempting to state a fact and gauging my acceptance of it as true or false. This time it was "Mom, sometimes we eat our poo-poo." Of course my reply was at peak shriek and decibel level. "Declan, we never ever ever eat our poo-poo! That would make us very sick. And it's really, really yucky." It's possible that I even spit on the floor in disgust. And as usual when he makes an absurd statement like that, I asked him who told him that we eat our poo-poo. His response was matter-of-fact: Daddy. Oh really, I asked him. Yes, he confirmed. Declan, I said, I think I might give Dad a call at work right now to ask him about that. The response this time was less bold: tears. He then begged me not to call Dad, but still never clarified who had told him such a thing. Takeaways from the incident: The dink is clearly capable of lying and blaming things on other people in their absence, even his poor dad. But on a brighter note, he most certainly will never discuss the possibility of eating one's poo-poo again.

3. Not everything that one desires can be easily gotten by Mom "at the store." I realize that this three-year-old misgiving is mostly my own fault. He asks for something we don't have (bubblebath), and it's inexpensive and innocuous enough that I tell him I'll have to pick up some at the store. Usually it's a food item that we're simply out of--apples, goldfish, Cheerios--and when it reappears in the pantry or fridge, he always confirms with me: "Mom, you got more Cheerios at the store?" Lately the concept has expanded, though. He's asking me to go to the store to get him things like a shirt with a car on it, a Transformer that turns on, and a never-ending treat supply of ice cream, fruit snacks, and "orange Coke." The madness must stop! So now we're having these awkward discussions about the fact that even though most things he wants can be purchased at the store, Mom is not going to go to the store to buy them. Luckily, he hasn't started asking "why?" at the punctuation of each statement I make, so he's still taking my word as gospel.

4. For reasons that are very difficult to explain, we do not play the banana-fana game with Jesus's name. We just don't. 

Crash

I experienced a parenting low last week. I keep telling myself that it could have happened to anyone, but as Jon put it so astutely after coming home and seeing the damage: “I cannot fathom how you possibly managed to do that…” It was possibly a unique event.

The gas light came on as I was driving to work in the morning. I could have gotten gas on my lunch break, but I didn’t because I couldn’t find a gas station that honored fuelperks. See, I just signed up for fuelperks at Winn Dixie, with a renewed enthusiasm to start shopping there again, and managed to rack up $0.50 a gallon in two weeks (we needed every single item, I promise). So I decided to wait to get gas on my way to daycare, where I knew I passed a fuelperks station…but turns out that one is on the wrong side of the road in the middle of private school traffic (all cars, no buses—one really long line on the street), so I made the executive decision that I could handle stopping for gas with the dink and baby K in the car on the way home.

Stay-at-home moms are probably appalled at my lack of ability to manage two children while performing a mindless routine task such as gas pumping. So let me first declare that I do actually accomplish many things (outside of childrearing) while solely supervising the duo. But this is the thing: when you’re away from your little ones all morning, the first hour you’re together in the afternoon is super-charged. They’re excited, needy, whiny, hungry, and both energetic after taking a nap (D) and deliriously wired after not taking a nap (K). In general, Keane cries the whole way home from daycare because he’s offended that I’m not holding him while traveling, and continues with the frustration, hanging on my leg, while I rush inside, get my breast milk in the fridge, fix Declan some juice, change clothes, go to the bathroom, get Declan his snack of the day, change 1-2 poopy diapers that happened while I was changing clothes, turn on Sesame Street, and…finally sit on the couch and let Keane nurse awhile until we’re all finally relaxed, comfortable, at home, together again. Aah.

But back to the gas station. Even though K was crying in the car, I pulled into the station advertising fuelperks near our house. Got out, frantically trying to read signage at the pump about how to claim your fuelperks. The dink immediately becomes impatient, begging me to get out of the car and “help,” and when I tell him no, he begins howling at peak decibel levels. I can’t figure out the stupid fuelperks thing, become incensed that the dink is acting so ridiculously, decide to abandon the situation completely, throw a hope into the universe that we won’t run out of gas on the way home, and jump back in the car, slam the door, as start scolding D about his behavior as I pull away from the pump…into one of those stupid, short, concrete little poles. But the noise level is so high in the car that I don’t hear it at first, scraping alongside my driver door. By the time the crunching noise registers in my head, the pole has moved on to the dink’s door.

Yes, I eventually realize that I am single-handedly inflicting $4,000 worth of damage on my vehicle with an immobile object. And in my frenzied attempt to drive away from the gosh-darn pole, I manage to reintroduce the object into the side of my car, moving back, then forward, then back…until finally three men come to rescue me from my absurdity. Two physically push the car away from the pole while the third hovers over me at the wheel, making sure I “Cut it hard, hard!” And alas, I was free.

My “Aah” moment was much delayed that day, needless to say. But the all-time low I experienced in the aftermath of the incident was really not about the car, it was more about my state of mind when dealing with the boys. It’s one thing for me to sometimes pull into the parking lot at work at 7 a.m. and not remember driving there only moments before, but it’s another thing all together for me to let my frustration at their cries render me blind to ordinary driving obstacles, when they’re right there in the car with me. A scary realization, and a lesson learned: fuelperks is not worth it. Damn you, Winn Dixie.