Just now as Wilder was going to bed, I was lying in bed with him, ostensibly to sing him a song, but really, we usually just lie there and cuddle and chat and try to make each other laugh. Tonight, he somehow managed to connect his elbow to my eye socket. As I held my eye, moaning a little, he leaned over and kissed it very gently.
Very sweet.
Then he told me: "Sometimes, when you get hurt, you need a kiss. But I hope it's not your feet that are hurt."
Long pause filled with the sound of me giggling.
"Actually," he continued, "I hope it's not ANYONE'S feet that get hurt."
More pause, more giggling. Then, when I'd composed myself, I said: "Yeah, but if I did hurt my foot, you'd kiss it, right?"
"No mama. You'd just have to go to the hospital."
Then we both laughed, me much harder than him, until Wilder had to ask, "Mama? Can you talk?"
Man oh man oh man I love this kid and his wonderful growing totally awesome sense of humor.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Friday, April 02, 2010
Long time no post
I think for the first time since I started this blog, I let a whole month pass without posting. My apologies to readers, if there are any left. It has been quite the first quarter of the year. Jerry worked some crazy hours and often wasn't home until late at night and gone also on the weekends. With it pretty much behind us now, I think I can safely say it sucked mightily but we all weathered it pretty well, boys included. That said, when I told them that I was taking a trip and Wilder asked, "But who will take care of us?," and I responded that his papa would be taking off work to stay home with them, he all but pushed me out the door. "You can leave tomorrow, Mama." I mean, I'm surprised he didn't offer to pack my bags, pick up my Traveler's Checks and find me a ride to the airport.
Speaking of Wilder ... my is that little boy growing up quick. This past week he has started calling me "mom" (instead of "mama") more often than not. I just NOW caught him getting his own bowl of cereal (a first) and he's joined his first tee-ball team. Lest we get too carried way, let it be known that Wilder really should be on one of those teams named the Rockhounds or the Buttscrathers or the Starers of Things In the Great Beyond. He is not, shall we say, picking up on the big picture. I practice with him in the front yard, and he does pretty great. But put him in a large group of other likeminded little monkeys and he loses all that he's learned. Hit the ball? Run randomly toward some point in the ball field only Wilder is aware of. Oh, and did I say run? I don't know what I'm talking about. Wilder kind of lopes. He lopes kind of like a mentally challenged pony. I mean, I love my boy, but he only gets his hustle on if he thinks that either A) it's a race, or B) a fire-breathing dragon is running behind him.
He'll come around, I'm sure. This kind of stuff used to really bother me. The bemused and slightly exasperated looks on the coaches faces would be getting under my skin like no one's business, and I'd probably be that mom on the sidelines hollering my face off to "stand up!" or "move!" or "catch ITTTTTTTT!" And, while I cannot help myself -- I do occasionally offer encouragement in the background -- I do know that it really doesn't matter how well he does; it matters that he tries and has fun and that when we do find something he's both good at and loves, we recognize it and encourage it. A sure sign I've matured and become a more patient mom? He will practice in the yard with me almost daily, he tells me he wishes I were his coach, and -- probably most importantly -- when he tells me he wants a break, we take one. No questions asked.
Finally, thanks to these boys, at the ripe old age of 38, I'm learning some patience.
So, yes, Wilder is growing up. He is so fun. He laughs with wild abandon and declares his love of the "whole world!" and tries to torture his brother sometimes and sometimes sleeps in bed with us now and adores all things dragon-related (especially reinforced by last weekend's outing to "How to Train Your Dragon" ... highly recommend that flick) and rides a scooter now and will be cruising along on a new bike here soon.
Hunter, as you probably realized, turned 2 in March. I didn't realize it, but apparently he's lost most of his baby fat. Birthday party guests remarked on his slimness ("WHERE did that belly go?"). Hunter talks a TON -- way more than Wilder did at this age, but no doubt due to Wilder's constant steam of consciousness now. He is constantly surprised by the world around him (Mama, BUS! Mama, tractor! Mama, kitty!), and one of his most favorite, and my most loathed, phrases uttered goes like this: "Mama, I JUMP!" which is typically followed by the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen plastered on a face and a huge THUMP on the floor. Ninety-eight percent of the time, that's followed by more jumping and thumping. Occasionally, he miscalculates and it's followed by copious amounts of tears. But the boy is tough. Very, very tough. For now, anyway.
Well, I could probably go on for quite some time. It's been a while since I talked about the boys on here, and they've done lots of growing, but my dryer buzzer just let me know that there is haus frauing to do.
Will try to post some pictures later today.
Speaking of Wilder ... my is that little boy growing up quick. This past week he has started calling me "mom" (instead of "mama") more often than not. I just NOW caught him getting his own bowl of cereal (a first) and he's joined his first tee-ball team. Lest we get too carried way, let it be known that Wilder really should be on one of those teams named the Rockhounds or the Buttscrathers or the Starers of Things In the Great Beyond. He is not, shall we say, picking up on the big picture. I practice with him in the front yard, and he does pretty great. But put him in a large group of other likeminded little monkeys and he loses all that he's learned. Hit the ball? Run randomly toward some point in the ball field only Wilder is aware of. Oh, and did I say run? I don't know what I'm talking about. Wilder kind of lopes. He lopes kind of like a mentally challenged pony. I mean, I love my boy, but he only gets his hustle on if he thinks that either A) it's a race, or B) a fire-breathing dragon is running behind him.
He'll come around, I'm sure. This kind of stuff used to really bother me. The bemused and slightly exasperated looks on the coaches faces would be getting under my skin like no one's business, and I'd probably be that mom on the sidelines hollering my face off to "stand up!" or "move!" or "catch ITTTTTTTT!" And, while I cannot help myself -- I do occasionally offer encouragement in the background -- I do know that it really doesn't matter how well he does; it matters that he tries and has fun and that when we do find something he's both good at and loves, we recognize it and encourage it. A sure sign I've matured and become a more patient mom? He will practice in the yard with me almost daily, he tells me he wishes I were his coach, and -- probably most importantly -- when he tells me he wants a break, we take one. No questions asked.
Finally, thanks to these boys, at the ripe old age of 38, I'm learning some patience.
So, yes, Wilder is growing up. He is so fun. He laughs with wild abandon and declares his love of the "whole world!" and tries to torture his brother sometimes and sometimes sleeps in bed with us now and adores all things dragon-related (especially reinforced by last weekend's outing to "How to Train Your Dragon" ... highly recommend that flick) and rides a scooter now and will be cruising along on a new bike here soon.
Hunter, as you probably realized, turned 2 in March. I didn't realize it, but apparently he's lost most of his baby fat. Birthday party guests remarked on his slimness ("WHERE did that belly go?"). Hunter talks a TON -- way more than Wilder did at this age, but no doubt due to Wilder's constant steam of consciousness now. He is constantly surprised by the world around him (Mama, BUS! Mama, tractor! Mama, kitty!), and one of his most favorite, and my most loathed, phrases uttered goes like this: "Mama, I JUMP!" which is typically followed by the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen plastered on a face and a huge THUMP on the floor. Ninety-eight percent of the time, that's followed by more jumping and thumping. Occasionally, he miscalculates and it's followed by copious amounts of tears. But the boy is tough. Very, very tough. For now, anyway.
Well, I could probably go on for quite some time. It's been a while since I talked about the boys on here, and they've done lots of growing, but my dryer buzzer just let me know that there is haus frauing to do.
Will try to post some pictures later today.
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