Twinks

Well, I finally broke down and got Keane a real little-boy haircut. And after seeing how absurdly cute he is now that the shape of his head is evident...I don't know why I waited so long. Of course, the snipping of the locks is a reminder of the fact that he is blowing through toddlerhood, trying his darnedest to catch up to his big brother in just about every respect except for still wanting to be cuddled and snuggled like a baby...but that's so evident in other ways that I've come to terms with the fact that the hair is not what I'm trying to hold onto. The thing about the haircut that I didn't antipicate was that he would come out of it looking not only six months older but 95% identical-looking to the dink at that age. It's unreal. Of course I love how they look-- their little faces have the most pleasing features to my senses that sometimes it's hard to look away--but sometimes I just think come on, can't J and I produce any other combination of traits?! When you're pregnant, and you try to envision what your future child will look like, it seems the possibilities are endless. And then the child is born, or in my case born twice, and suddenly all the mystery disappears...and you realize there was no mystery at all in the first place. The possibilities are not endless. Clearly, this is what children produced by the two of us will look like. A little of me, a little of you, blond hair, light eyes, fair skin...don't know why we'd ever imagine it any other way! Here's the comparison:

Declan around 19 months

Keane at 19 months, post-haircut

One indication of K trying to grow up too fast (for me) is that he's become obsessed with babies, and recognizes them as something separate from himself. He loves reading his books about babies, pointing out babies in public, and when you sing Rock-a-Bye Baby, he pulls his little hands to his chest and sways back and forth like he's rocking his own baby. So finally, after he twice tried to steal a little girl's baby doll at church (and screamed MINE! while pointing to it obnoxiously), I realized it was time for him to have his very own. It took a little effort to find one that wasn't dripping with pink frills, but I finally did--a little soft-bodied/hard-headed blue and orange thing with a hat. I showed it to Keane in the backseat of the car when we got home one day. I said, "Look, Keane, it's your baby doll!" He immediately kicked his legs and reached out for it, almost panting. Then I freed him from his carseat and stood him in the driveway, holding his very own baby at last. And then I stood there, frozen, while he kissed his baby on the mouth about 27 times in a row, exclaiming "Baby!" every 2-3 kisses. And I mean wet, open-mouth, I-love-you kind of kisses...I'm still kicking myself for not having the video camera ready for this significant event! Keane has finally found a much-needed outlet for sharing his love. And he's learned already at this tender age that babies are meant for kissing. Can't complain about that.

Health and Happiness

Every time I start feeling like my life is under control and that I can actually handle all of the events and responsibilities that each day throws at me...I get thrown a little more. At least it gives me perspective; things can either be worse or be better, and no sense in wishing for one or the other because you'll get your turn at both at some point. Better to just focus on what you've got for the time being.

Right now what we've got is a complicated approach to trying to improve the health, happiness, and well-being of Keane. Without drawing this out--the meat of it is that he's been ill almost nonstop for the past 9 months (essentially, ever since he started eating a mostly solid diet as a baby, his immune system quit functioning). Ear infections, sinus infections, countless colds and coughs, croup, hand food & mouth disease, tonsilities, unexplained fevers for days...you name it, he's had it. And on top of that, he's frequently cranky as all get-out for no apparent reason and communicates to me in certain ways that an outsider would not see or feel, but that in my own motherly intuition I am 100% certain of, that he just doesn't feel good, most of the time. I remember when the dink was this age, around 18 months, and I would take him out in public to stores and such, people would constantly comment on what a happy baby I had. He was all smiles, waving at people, looking around with bright eyes and absorbing the world around him. I used to think to myself, well what does he have to be unhappy about? The kid has a nice life. Well, I'd like to think that we're giving Keane the same nice life, but no one has ever commented about how happy he is, and we've certainly never made it through a single outing anywhere without fussiness or tears. Some days I've even found myself wondering, is there anything for him to be happy about?

So we have two different kids, despite their physical appearances. That goes without saying. But there's more to the story than that. I've been aware of Keane's sensitivites to food since he was a newborn and I was eating only 6-7 foods to try to get his diarrhea and general misery under control. And that's what I'm still doing today. We recently had his blood tested to find out what foods he is sensitive to, though not necessarily allergic to. And now we're doing a strict elimination diet to get those foods out of his system and see if he experiences any relief. It involves an absurd amount of effort, as he's limited to only a couple dozen very basic foods, so I'm trying my hand at things like banana/oat/sweet potato "bread" if you can call it that just to have something to leave him for a snack at daycare. He's pretty much living off of turkey, asaparagus, mushrooms, onions, sweet potatoes, and a handful of fruits for a few weeks now before we start adding other foods back. But amazingly he's accepting it pretty well. The first days were really rough, with massive BMs that could not be contained by a diaper, a full body rash, and extreme irritability that culminated one afternoon with a fifteen-minute, on-the-floor trantrum asking for a cheese stick...but now things are leveling off. That was supposed to be the "detox" phase of the diet. Yesterday, a daycare worker told me that Keane seemed happier and healthier to her. And two nights ago, I put him to bed at night awake, and he went right to sleep without crying or needing me back in there...for the first time ever in his entire life. So I took that as a sure sign that some part of him is feeling better already. Oh, and his two-week runny nose suddenly disappeared completely around day 3 of the diet...another welcome relief.

So who knows what this will bring. At the moment, it feels like life throwing more at me, but at the same time I realize that if it's successful, our entire family will be in "for the better" phase. We'll all have one more impetus for happiness and health. Even if I have to keep baking these fake breads for the next 18 years...it would be worth it.

Along with this intense focus on diet comes, naturally with these little boys, some silliness. One evening shortly after starting his new regimen, Keane had a poop so enormous that it could not be contained by his size 5 diaper. Before I could grab the wipes to change him, he had passed through the kitchen, dropping poop clumps in various places along the way, culminating by sitting down in the "carpet room"...and I'll leave the rest to the imagination. So I start running around frantically, trying to clean the poop and Keane before any further spreading takes place. The dink senses my stress and asks me what's wrong. So I explain the situation to him, and give him the task of looking around the house for more droppings. Perhaps I should mention that at that moment, he happened to be wearing a Santa Claus hat and a scarf (in July) and carrying a red flashlight. So off he went, telling me he was on an "adventure", shining the light in the pantry, behind the TV, at the base of the dishwasher...looking in earnest for treasure. That dink has a way of putting a smile on my face even in the stinkiest of situations.

The Keane Machine

Rather than post a picture, here's a link to some great family photos we recently had done!
http://littlefishpics.smugmug.com/Children/camille/22757406_zMTQ28#!i=1825376332&k=gRkrwcz

Since his birth, we’ve fondly referred to Keane as “The Keane Machine”, which not only rhymes but gives an indication of the persistence of his personality. Often, we’ll rearrange it with a modifier to make it more aptly fit a certain situation: Keane the Poop Machine, Keane the Blueberry Machine, Keane the Fuss Machine. Lately, we should be saying Keane the Word Machine because he is saying a new word every day, already saying a few sentences, and essentially talking nonstop. It makes me wonder if he’s been trying to communicate with me since birth (and I’ve been missing the efforts), and now that he’s finally finding the words, he’s got so much to tell! He’s about to turn 17 months, and I’d wager that he knows about 50-60 words. And on top of that, he’ll try to repeat just about anything you say.

The funniest thing he says is simply yes and no, but the way he says it is hilarious—he’s mimicking the casual speech of people around him. No sounds like noooo, almost like nah, but with a singsong-ness to it. And yes is yeah the way you’d say it in “yeah, I guess so.” Some other favorites include him saying Amen! not only at the end of a prayer before dinner, but all throughout a meal and sometimes during play. He associates it with setting things down, I think, I guess because we’re saying Amen after I’ve set down all the food on the table. Sometimes he bows his head and his torso in a worship-like fashion, then sits up and yells it like he’s so proud of his display. 


His pronunciation is not perfect, of course, and I think I’m the only one who understands a lot of what he says, but believe you me he manages to annunciate intensely when he’s asking for one of his favorite things in the world: outside, pop-pop (popsicle), box (as in juice), bubbles, berries, bread, cheese, box (different one, jack-in-the-), and a recent favorite that he suddenly has great affection for, appy (apples)—that one is probably the cutest thing he says. And those sentences I mentioned--mostly all start with "I want", like I wanna treat, I wanna do it...can't imagine where he gets it from. The other day, he held up his finger to me and demanded one more minute! in an awfully familiar fashion. And just like D as a toddler, there are a few words K refuses to say but uses motion instead to communicate them: elephant (a trumpeting noise), heart (beating the chest saying "boom-boom"), sorry (a hug), and of course the elusive I love you, which is always expressed with a kiss. He still can't say his name but is finally trying--it sounds like nee. And Declan's name sounds a lot like dada, which makes the dink scream at him hysterically (I. AM. NOT. YOUR. DAD!) Oh, and even though he can say Goofy, Elmo, Zoe, Cookie, Abby...he calls Mickey and Minnie both Ninnie. Oh boy, I could go on and on...

Outnumbered

 It's been too long since I've written about my boys! But it's only because I've been terribly busy living, and I can't complain about that. In the meantime, though, these boys are exploding in their abilities, their wills, their hearts, and of course, their sheer boyness. I am truly outnumbered in this household.

The dink is super-into imaginary play these days. He's constantly asking me to refer to him as Bob the Builder, Elmo, Mickey, kitty cat, lion...you name it. And the rest of the household is supposed to take on corresponding names. A couple favorites have been when J comes home from work and the dink yells "Hey, Goofy!" And another night, we were repeatedly corrected for a two-hour period by the dink if either J or I called Keane anything but "Jimmy," the inquisitive animal-loving character from the animated portion of Wild Kratts.

And then comes the ever-important "play." We build forts. We build roads. We hide from bad guys. We run away from Keane. We get in trouble for pretending to shoot a gun because it upsets Mommy and she doesn't understand how we ever learned about this gun-shooting and bad-guy concept in the first place... But the dink lives for his play. I used to say that he would jump off the roof of the house for a mere three M&Ms. Now, the lengths that he'll go to to negotiate, beg for, and demand to "play a few more minutes" are simply staggering. My favorite play is when we pretend that we're going to make soup, and he goes to the grocery store for all the vegetables we need, but at some point in the process he stops in tracks and remembers--oh no--that he forgot his coupons!...Classic.

He's just trying to figure out this crazy world, that dink, and the little lives we manage in it. You can see his little face trying to sort out things he's seen or experienced, framing them in a question to make sure he understood it right: "Mom, sometimes blueberries cost too much, so we have to go to a different store?" That's right, dink. Or, we just don't buy them. "Mom, when I leave school, my friends will miss me?" Of course they will, dink. "Mom, juice doesn't help you grow. Only water and milk help you grow...right?" Amen to that.

And as much as the dink has his crazy fits of nonsense and misplaced anger, he has crazy fits of love and sentimentality. He's into spontaneous hugs, pats, pets, and declarations of love in which he must have the final word. So he'll randomly say, "Mom, I love you." or "Mom, you're my best friend." And if I reply "I love you, too." He'll say "No! I said I love YOU!" At which moment an argument ensues if you try to force the point. And arguing about love, while it doesn't seem entirely unnatural, is surely unwarranted with a three-year-old. So I just let it stand. "Thank you, dink." Can't wait till he and K fight about their love. :) One day!

     

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.

Mommy

 I know I've said before that the Dink is a sensitive one, but lately this aspect of his personality has really bloomed. Especially about his mommy (can't help but smile). He's getting more cuddly and like a real person in his affections (less like a busy toddler who finds things like hugs overly restraining). When he wakes up in the morning, he grabs his doggy lovey and heads straight for either my bed where he can get in and snuggle with dad, or for the couch, where he can cover himself with a blanket and lay his head on pillows while enjoying his juice and Cheerios. Of course, ten minutes later, he's usually on the floor doing the hot-dog dance with Mickey Mouse. But there's at least that initial period of morning snuggles that is so good.

The mommy thing is nearing extreme, though. It's usually inspired by seeing pairs of animals, cartoon characters, inanimate objects, you name it, where the dink can use his imagination to distinguish one as a child and one as a mommy. Upon inspiration, he uses this kind of whiny, isn't-that-so-cute, so-sweet-i-wanna-cry tone of voice and says "Aww, he's got his mommy." And he drags out the word mommy into two or three syllables. Many times, he'll hug me spontaneously and while patting my shoulder say, "I got my mommmmmmy." To which I'm supposed to respond "I've got my (insert kitty, Bob the Builder, lion...whatever I'm instructed by the dink to call him that day)". His favorite time to do this is after his bath. I use all of my body strength to pick him up out of the tub, towel ready on my chest, and wrap him up and dry him off as he hugs my neck and practically wipes a tear from his eye as he squeaks "I got my mommy!"

The other night, after a weekend full of play outside in the backyard, J discovered 2-3 splinters in the dink's hand. Naturally, this discovery took place while I was in the shower, and J couldn't wait until I got out to take a needle to the dink's poor little hand and pry them out. I was toweling off in the bedroom when the dink walks in, completely red, wet-faced and shaking, looking for a hug. J tells me that, though he was brave, the dink cried hysterically throughout the process, repeating "I want my mommy!" the whole time. So I gave him a good hug, and he got a Mickey Mouse band-aid, and was feeling better quickly, though still a little shaky. I offered to read him his bed-time books, which included a favorite, Are You My Mother? I snuggled close to the dink on the couch, with our pillows and blankets, and read slowly. When we get to the part where the baby bird starts crying and yells "I want my mother!", the dink stops me from turning the page, puts his finger on the baby bird's scrunched up face, his tears from earlier starting to pour again as he looks at me and says "He...wants...his...mommmmmmmmmy."

Oh, dink. I love you, too.        

Jokester

The dink made his first joke recently. Admittedly, it was a little blasphemous, but J and I cracked up for a good 4-5 minutes anyway.

Dink's at that age where he repeats, and even more scary, remembers just about everything you say. And even if he doesn't quite get all the syllables right in your choice phrase, no matter, because he can somehow pick up the exact context of when to use the phrase, so when he repeats it in public at just the right awkward moment, you can be sure everyone will know what he meant to say. Not that I'm trash talking around him. But having him around repeating my every exasperated expression lately is making me realize that there is always room to improve...

 Anyway, we were in the car, on the way home from mass one Sunday, when something prompted the dink to exclaim "Oh my gosh!" Which prompted me to suggest to the dink that instead of saying that entire expression, how about we just say "Oh my!" and leave it at that. Which prompted J to suggest another alternative expression, slightly more off-color than the original: "Hey D, how about you say Holy Cow!"? And of course the dink cracked up at that. So J took it further: what about Holy Mackerel!? The dink laughed even harder. And then, reaching deep into his short-term memory for inspiration, he delivered his first punchline: "Holy Ketchup!" 

J and I just kept giggling, looking at each other with wild, surprised eyes that our little baby boy was capable of such sophisticated thinking. Daddy, who loves delivering his own original, self-crafted punchlines more than just about anything in life, was proudest. I had stop laughing a moment early, though, to reflect on my failed attempt to instill a higher moral standard in the language of my family. But oh well; it was pretty damn funny.

Lookalikes

People are constantly telling me how much the dink and baby K look alike, especially the people who knew the dink as an infant, like daycare workers and friends. I've always agreed in their lookalikeness. Right after K was born, I told my family that when I looked at him for the first time, I had the strange sensation that I'd had the same baby twice. But that soon changed. After time, after you've stared at your child intently for so long that you've memorized every single aspect of its face, you start to only look at the eyes. You scan over the blueberry stains on their lips and peanut butter in their hair and ever-present bruises on their legs and focus on reading into what each and every look of theirs is communicating. And that's where my two boys differ.

They're both sensitive, I'll give them that. But for D, his sensitivity is almost tactile. When you fuss at him, it doesn't just hurt his feelings, it physically hurts his ears. He responds to almost all of my admonitions with a pitiful "Don't yell at me, Mommy!" And his eyes, pained. Deep down, or maybe not that deep but beyond the surface for sure (i.e. not always in line with his actions) he just wants to be perfect--to do the right thing, have the right answer, to please and to respond in a way that meets or exceeds everyone's expectations. I supposed he's a "classic" first born.

But K isn't as concerned with what people think. (This is the kid who cried for four months straight, after all.) The other day, a nice lady in Sam's was trying to make K smile, and after 8-9 attempts, just when I thought (prayed) that he was finally on the verge of giving this poor lady at least a grin, he started crying right in her face. Even though he had been giggling his head off at my antics only moments earlier. K is quite selective in the people he wants to please. But still sensitive. He loves to be caressed and cuddled like nobody's business. Early on in daycare, two of his teachers told me in their own ways that they had discovered that baby K went to sleep easier when he was snuggled up super, super close, and even allowed to place his hand in someone's cleavage. And he's not growing out of it. When we were at the beach recently, I realized that his eyes would roll back in his head in pleasure every time I gently rubbed the sunscreen into his face and scalp.

And at the tender age of 8 months, he's learned what it means when Mommy says "no"; his eyes are so tender at the sound of my firm voice. I remember taking D to his 9 month doc appointment, and Dr. W. asking me his series of questions to gauge the dink's developmental milestones. One question was "Does he understand when you tell him no?" And I laughed to myself at the time. What in the world would I have to tell him no about? He didn't get into the trash (Keane), didn't put random objects his mouth (Keane), and didn't crawl up the shower curtain and pull it back to let water spray all over the bathroom every time I took a shower (Keane). At the time, I truly couldn't fathom ever fussing at baby dink. But poor K--he's been hearing no for months now. And finally responding. Not only does he stop what he's doing in his tracks, but he startles, looks at me with his intense blue eyes not like he's hurt that I would fuss at him, but like he can't believe he got caught. I have to admit, my hands feel pretty full right now. I hesitate a bit for when my cup runneth over...

Two boys

It's becoming more obvious as the weeks and months go by just how different the dink and his little brother are. As Baby K's personality, like his physical development, is exploding at the seams, facets of the Dink's personality are simultaneously revealing themselves. In some ways, I'm realizing that you can't get to know your first child's personality traits fully when they are your only. Because unless you've had the occasion to know many other babies intimately in your life, you have nothing to compare your baby to. So when the second one comes along, you start reflecting on the way number one was as it relates to how number two is. And so it is with me and my boys.

Dink was consistently behind on most of his milestones--sitting up, crawling, getting teeth, saying his first word, etc. But K--I can't keep up with him. He just turned 8 months a couple days ago, and already he is crawling like lightning across a room, can clap his hands, wave back at someone, say "hey" and "yay" and even "mama", most recently! He has even already pulled up a few times. It's so strange to me because in my mind, I still regard him as an infant, tensing up each night as I go to bed, wondering what the night will bring. But although it's true that he has only slept through the night twice in his entire life, his daytime behavior is far from infant-like. While my heart is rejoicing that the fussy days are finally gone, it is clenching to see him blowing through babyhood at such a pace. I just wish that I could steal my favorite moments at this age--like the biggest grins and gasps of excitement he gets just from seeing me, and that insanely precious way his nose wrinkles when he is grinning at me on the verge of laughter, and save that for when I have time to truly appreciate it and enjoy it to its fullest...I hate thinking about losing the memory of how amazing those moments feel.

The other night J was putting the dink to bed, and he mistakenly closed the door to the dink's bedroom as the dink was blowing him a kiss goodnight...which promptly ended with the dink bursting into genuine tears, not just hysterics, brokenhearted that daddy would ignore his kiss. It took J a few minutes when he went back in the dink's room to even understand what he was so upset about, but when he did, he of course blew the dink a big fat kiss goodnight. Then he came out, told me the story, and said that the whole experience "made him feel so amazing."

It's the stuff like that that I can't get enough of, and am so scared will go away before I even realize it and then I'll be dying to just remember what those moments were like. And maybe K will give us totally different experiences to cherish (or endure). Like I said in the beginning, they are definitely two different kids. Point in case: this past weekend, dink was playing with a fire truck or Legos or something, and Baby K sidled up to him, swatting at the toy in his hand. As usual, dink half screamed, half roared at K to scare him away--a tactic which has worked quite well for a couple months. Usually, K ends up scared and crying, and I end up interfering. But this time, at 8 months and 1 day old, K lunged at the dink and let out a scream/roar twice as big as the dink had proffered. And guess what? Dink ended up crying. Papa was there to witness Baby K's first attempt to stand up for himself and laughed all day about it. Aaaahh, can't wait to see what these two do next.

Terrible

I think "terrible twos" hit around 2.5 years old for the dink, so we're just now really getting in the trenches. Example: yesterday.

I picked up D and K from daycare at the normal time, and as we were walking to the car, the same SUV that I've been picking them up in every day since we bought it four months ago, the dink starts asking me in this panicky, tearful voice: "Mommy's little black car? Mommy, you got your little black car back??" To which I tell him no, as usual, Daddy has Mommy's little black car now, and he's at work. To which he responds by bursting into tears. Okay.

Then to the car. After I check his seatbelt (he has to fasten it himself of course), I lean in for a kiss. But today he doesn't want a kiss and turns his head. I ask him again for a kiss, but: "I don't want to kiss Mommy today!" so I shut his car door and jump in the driver's seat. At which point he begins howling. What's wrong, dink? Tears streaming, sweat pouring. Have I mentioned that it's 102 degrees outside and I haven't even started the car? And in heels, of course. Somehow that makes everything more difficult. "I want to kiss Mommy!!!" Okay, dink. Let's kiss.

Then in the car. I say "Whew, it's hot! We need to turn on the air!" But apparently I was wrong. Because the dink starts in: No mommy! We not turn on the air! We not turn on the aaaaiiirrrr!" Wow. But this time, we turned on the air.

It pretty much continued like that until we got home. He got upset when I said it was getting cloudy, and when I stopped at the stop signs. But later told me that he "had a good day" and yelled "we're home!" when we got there like he actually wanted to reside with me. I just have to believe that this, too, shall pass, and that it's not true what people say--that 3 years old is now the new 2.

On a brighter note, there is K in that pic being cute as can be playing in my coupons. And today on the way home, D told me "I like Mommy's hair," and that was kind of nice.

Healing

I haven't spent enough time writing about Baby K since he was born, already six months ago. I'd say the process of integrating a second child into your life, your every thought, your future plans, and even correspondence with others is gradual, or has been for me at least. I don't know if this is universal. I've heard plenty people say that, while pregnant, though you can't comprehend the ability to love a second child as much as you love your first, when the child is born, you find a whole nother heart's worth of love and affection for that second baby that equals the first. And I believe that it happens that way for many people. But for me, it really just took time.

K was born as precious as they come, complete with a triangle head and smushed nose, and skin so red that the pediatrician checked his blood count at one week old to make sure he was normal. And I rejoiced in holding him against me most of our entire stay in the hospital, so happy that he was finally on the outside and that I wasn't pregnant anymore and could pat his little booty and smell his milk breath. And all of that was normal and wonderful and lasted until I got home and saw the burden it was for the dink to not have my full attention almost ever, and as soon as I quit taking painkillers for my stitches, Baby K's complete monopolization of my person increased tenfold. He cried the entire day long, from 2 weeks old until 10 weeks or so, at which point his misery only slightly diminished. His daytime naps lasted only 15 minutes, unless he was attached to my breast, and his nighttime sleep consisted of 2-3 hour naps, which ended at 4 a.m. when the night's repeated nursings culminated in gas and reflux too unbearable to be settled by patting, swinging, swaying, singing, dancing, jumping, praying, or even more nursing. Needless to say, J and I were both exhausted, and D somewhat neglected. But the biggest problem then was that when K would cry, it didn't kill me like it should have. Maybe because I heard it so much. Maybe because D managed to cry louder, when I had been holding K in my arms from the time he got home from daycare until J arrived--about 4 hours. Or maybe because I was crying along with him half the time, wondering why I couldn't have a baby who could be set down long enough for me to make breakfast, or why he couldn't be held contentedly on my lap sitting down instead of needing to be bounced around all the time just to distract him from the misery of being awake, or being alive, I sometimes felt.

I can write this today without feeling like the worst mother in world only because K at six months is not the same baby I begrudgingly bounced at six weeks. And I am not the same mother. When K was 9.5 weeks, on Ash Wednesday, I went on an extreme elimination diet to try to resolve K's apparent gastrointestinal misery. And it worked...slowly. By 16 weeks or so, he finally started to take on human-like qualities, quit with the horrific gas and diarrhea, and even started smiling when I walked into the room. And so did I. And for the past two months, I have finally experienced the process that most new mothers go through in the first month of their baby's life--the obsessive, all-encompassing, uncontrollable love and compassion and every other good feeling in the world for that baby. To make him smile by doing something silly and then repeat it 50 times tirelessly, enjoying just the reward of that grin or laugh. To want to smell every inch of him and memorize it, making a mental catalog of tummy, breath, hair. To worry that he'll quit breathing at least once a night, if not a dozen. To sigh contentedly along with him as he falls asleep in your arms. To well up with tears at the slightest suggestion that harm could come his way. I just love that baby like crazy now. And I expect the dink to love his brother, in spite of taking away from his attention, because I need K to be happy just as much as I need D.

Today, it's like everyone told me before. You always have room to love one more. Once they're there, you won't remember life without them. God knows what he's doing, and there is no gift greater than life. Though well worth the wait to finally experience these feelings, it has been a process. But now I can finally say that we're healed, and it feels so good.

Happy

The dink had his first big trip away from us--an entire week spent at Nana and Pop's house three hours away. It wasn't something I was particularly excited about--actually, the impending week caused me more stress than I'd like to admit throughout the entire month of May--but I packed him up with his loveys and little blue pillow and his swim diapers and Go Dog Go! and sent him on his way for seven long days and nights (long for me, that is--the dink still can't tell time).

One of the dink's best qualities is his enthusiasm. He's by far the most enthusiastic person I've ever met in my entire life, rivaled only by one of my best friends, Colleen. (And though Colleen's enthusiasm has remained remarkable into adulthood, knowing her as a teen allowed me to understand that sometimes maintaining that level of hype takes work. But for the dink, at 2.5 years old...it's still effortless.) He gets excited about his cheerios in the morning, or seeing Mickey Mouse on tv. He's thrilled about eating cheese and crackers or getting a cup of juice, or playing Playdoh, or going to the grocery store with Mommy (super excited on that one), or even just putting on his clothes sometimes ("Mommy, I get dressed!!"). I wish I could understand where that motivation comes from at such a young age, to keep a happy face in midst of mundanity, or even fear, or while learning to share me so sweetly with his baby brother. When he was a baby, people used to comment on what a happy little guy he was as if it was something remarkable, and I would think, he's a baby, what does he have to be sad about? But as he gets older, the more remarkable it really does seem. Don't all parents think some quality about their child is noteworthy? I think this is the dink's best feature. I try not to bore people with the "listen to how smart my child is" stories, or suppose that he will one day play professional sports every time he dribbles a soccer ball across the yard, or hurls some other object over the backyard fence...but now when someone comments on what a happy boy I have, I do indulge in a quiet smile to myself, envision a high-five to J, and take a little credit for that...even though I truly don't understand how he does it.

When the dink returned from Nana and Pop's after his long séjour, he carried an armful of lovies and stuffed snakes and his little blue pillow to his room to put back in his bed. I turned on the light, and the rejoicing commenced. "Mommy, my room! My trucks, mommy! My clothes! My little car! My booookkksss!!!" And I just stood there, grinning, silently rejoicing with him. My child! My child! My child!!!

Though D was nothing less than ecstatic about getting to see his "friends" again at daycare that first week after coming back, he couldn't quite yell "bye!" with his usual gusto when I left for work one morning. He followed me to the door to watch me get in the car, and I tried to make him laugh by telling him "Bye, sugar. Bye, honey." which is part of a game we usually play in the car. And he just stood there looking through the screen door at me, trying so hard to smile at me, but the little corners of his mouth kept turning down, and his eyes were all sadness. But even as his tears were forming, he was still trying to make himself smile. Oh, dink. Now witnessing that sweet effort can definitely make you late for work. But it only took a few hugs and kisses and a brief pep talk to get him back on his feet. And though I felt like a jerk all morning long for being a working mom at all, I was still glad to know that I was missed. I imagine that one benefit to having a clingy child would be knowing that child always needs you. And the downside of having a confident, independent child is wondering if he even needs you at all. I think with the dink, we got the best of both worlds.