Brothers

I've been taking the boys pictures every six months — February and August — since Hunter's first August on Planet Earth. In my mind's eye, they became beautiful framed photos that I could put on the walls so that when I'm an old lady, I can look at them and miss them and forget all the hours upon hours of torture they've put me through. (Note to adult Wilder and Hunter: Well worth it!)

But my mind's eye does not always make it to reality, especially when you spend a lot of time moving, and then moving again.

Now that we're in our forever house (or at least until the boys go off to college and I can start traveling house), I finally gave my mind's eye mass and volume and then put that mass and volume up on the damn walls.

You can see in the third picture down in the photo on the left that Wilder has his arm around Hunter. And in every picture since. This is not forced or staged.

Brothers. Love them. Love that they love each other.

Worry

Wilder heard the song "American Pie" a couple of weeks ago, and he's been singing and humming the main refrain ever since. You know it:

So bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And good 'ol boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singing 'This'll be the day that I die ....'

Today, on a drive to a nearby place to play, the boys and I decided to listen to the whole song. And, of course, that refrain is repeated many times throughout the song, along with many other lyrics. We're nearing the end of the song, as well as nearing our destination, and Hunter pipes up loudly from the back seat:

"Mama? What's whiskey?"

The whole damn song and that boy asks that question. I mean, he could ask dozens of other things. What's a Chevy? What's a levee? What's a swelter? What's a fallout shelter? (This post is starting to sound very Seussian ...)

Anyway, the fact that he asked about whiskey explains a lot in terms of why Jerry and I worry about him sometimes. He has this knack for zeroing in on the very thing you hope he won't. Like how he grabs my friends' breasts sometimes. He could touch their hair, or ask them what color eyes they have.

But nope. It's the breasts.

Sigh.

So I answered his question: "It's something grown-ups drink sometimes."

H: "Can it make you sick?"

Seriously, how does he know this stuff?

"Yes, honey. It can make you sick. Very, very sick."

Oh Hunter honey ... I am going to have to keep a very, very close eye on you. Because you remind me of me. And that scares the living daylights out of me.

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.

Monday Monday (with Hunter)

Wish I could write more lately, but with Jerry working all kinds of hours, me starting a new part-time position at my old workplace, and the millions of other ways that life pulls and pushes at you, I just don't have a lot of extra time. I did get a chance today, though, to take the camera outside and follow Hunter around with it. (The REAL camera, not my camera phone ... which makes a huge difference but which I don't do often enough these days ... seems things like smart-phones and Facebook are shunting my creativity ... hmmm).

Anyway, here are some pics of my baby boy this morning. Is he not getting cuter every day? (The one of him smelling the chalk pretty much proves the genes from my side of the family have taken over ...)

Bye bye crib

I don't know what came over me yesterday. Well, no, that's not true. I do, or at least I think I do. Jerry goes back to work the day after tomorrow. That return will officially start tax season, and because of his transition into a different position, this will likely be the worst tax season we've ever endured. Translation: Jerry will almost NEVER be home until some time in April. I've taken some measures to ensure we don't lose our minds around here. The boys will both be in school 10 hours per week, I'm trying to hire a neighborhood teenager to come play with the boys two or three nights a week and on one weekend day so I can cook dinner/work/hide in my room and cry/mutter/rock back and forth. That kind of stuff, and more.

My point is that I'm trying to plan, to get those things done that will need to be taken care of before Jer's extended absence. So yesterday, without much thought, I decided to tackle Hunter's room. To move the big bed in there, re-organize his clothes so that what doesn't fit is out and what fits is in. To organize what was once a changing table to a toy organizer (he barely fits on there anymore). Etcetera etcetera. Wilder, by the way, is increasingly my and Jer's little assistant and he was quite helpful in the whole endeavor. He was also VERY excited for his brother to be out of his crib.

Hunter was also pretty excited about the new bed and set up a chair to leap from onto the bed. Kept running across the room and launching himself onto it. Kept rolling around with his stuffed animals on it. Still, the first nap and the first bedtime ended, after much crying, hollering and fussing, with him going back into his crib, which we've kept in the room for now. He wanted to be in the big bed, but it was all so new as to cause much consternation.

But now, as I type, he lays in there peacefully zonked out. The third time was the charm. So, what I'm almost positive is my last baby is no longer a baby. The crib is out. The only thing that really remains are diapers, and I'm sure I won't have quite the misty-eyed reaction to seeing those go that I've had to the crib. More like dancing around the room, waving my arms above my head and singing "Hallelujah!"

And to Hunter, one of the sweetest baby boys who ever roamed this earth ... I feel like this marks the end of an era, in a sense. So let me have a few words: Hunter, you are AMAZING. You are this wonderful combination of sweet, loving, affectionate, rambunctious, crazy, joyous, cranky, calm, confident and creative that lights up our lives and fills our home with much laughter and love. I cannot have imagined a more perfect addition to our family. I love you so much, sweet boy, and can't wait to see your barrel through more of life's challenges and adventures.

Here are some photos from the last couple days.

Hunter: not quite a mama's boy, but not quite not

Hunter is at that point in his developing toddlerhood where he has set preferences and clear opinions. For instance, he likes Jerry to pull him out of his crib first thing in the morning. If I go in, he gets mad, hollers, "no no no no no! PAPA!" At which point I shrug my shoulders, head back to bed and tap Jerry on the shoulder as I begin a glorious fall back into the soft contours of my mattress and pillow. This sometimes even happens when Hunter is napping during the day, when Jerry is at work, and after the bit where he hollers at me that I should not deign to live his hefty little butt from his slumber, sometimes literally telling me to "GO AWAY," I let him know he's in for a long wait and walk back out the door. He comes around eventually.

OK, so I'm kind of flippant about this, and I try to remember that sometimes the boys prefer me for other things, and also look on the bright side -- I can get an extra few winks in the morning or just lay in bed taking a little more time to wake up, which is great for an a.m. crankpot like me. But truth is, it does cause my heart to ache just a twinge when he sends me packing, demanding his papa.

Cut to this morning. Hunter woke up. Played in bed awhile. Then started calling out "Papaaa!" Jerry got up and took him out to the couch. Every morning, Hunter insists on taking his blankie, his doggy and his froggy out of his bed with him and cuddling on the couch with all three. Apparently, after he'd been up a few minutes this morning, he started gathering all of his lovies up and launched off the couch and started heading toward the hall that leads to the bedrooms.

"Where you going?" Jerry asked.

"Where's Mama?" Hunter answered, as he continued on his march.

A few seconds later, he wandered into our bedroom, calling my name. "Maaaaaaamaaaaa?" Walked over to the bed, looked up, saw me in it and demanded: "Up???" Then he crawled into bed with me, arranged all his prized possessions around me, laid his head on my chest and grinned at me.

Of course he then proceeded to roll around like a sumo wrestler, at some point butt-slamming my nose with his ample behind (we don't call him Captain Longcrack for nothing). But still, it was a sweet moment that I'll cherish.