This morning, when he was ready to go to school, Jerry opened the front door and he took of like a shot for the steps. You can see in the third photo down the beginnings of Jerry in the process of taking off after him. Nice save Papa.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Preservation Deprivation
It's starting to look like Wilder has a true little daredevil in him. I see other toddlers cautiously approaching steps, carefully negotiating their world. Not our boy. Wilder = Full Steam Ahead. In the last couple of weeks especially, he's shown himself to be a lover of the adrenaline rush. He stands up in his rocking chair and "surfs." He's surfed wildly out of control a couple of times, but does this stop him from doing it over and over and over? Of course not.
This morning, when he was ready to go to school, Jerry opened the front door and he took of like a shot for the steps. You can see in the third photo down the beginnings of Jerry in the process of taking off after him. Nice save Papa.
This morning, when he was ready to go to school, Jerry opened the front door and he took of like a shot for the steps. You can see in the third photo down the beginnings of Jerry in the process of taking off after him. Nice save Papa.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Rough Day
How do you prove your love on Valentine's Day to your son? Apparently, if you're me, you lock him inside your car -- WITH THE KEYS -- at CVS for 45 minutes and, after he's screamed his head off and you've lost all feelings in your extremeties AND the fire department and local locksmith have treated you with great sympathy that's almost sent your tear ducts into overdrive ... yeah, well THEN you lose his red heart mylar balloon.
I suck. Sneef.
I suck. Sneef.
And, 'Cuz There Haven't Been Enough Pics Lately ...
The look that says: "Seriously ... leave me alone ..."
Rowdy in the tub
And because this picture just makes me laugh my ass off.
xoxo ... love to all,
K,J&W
Two Little Tales
Wilder had a pretty eventful day for a 1-year-old yesterday, filled with bad (story No. 1) and good (story No. 2):
1. I pick up Wilder from daycare each day around 3:30. The second I walked in the door, I was greeted by the somewhat-serious face of Miss Toni, who's one of Wilder's favorites. She handles the big kids' room, where Wilder sometimes spends time because he A) likes the big kids, and B) likes Miss Toni (and she adores him).
"I have something to tell you," she said, somewhat ominiously. Immediately, of course, my mind filled with images of Wilder having one of a myriad bad things happen to him. But then my sense kicked in and I knew if it was THAT bad they wouldn't have waited until I walked through the door to tell me.
"Uhh, OK ..." I said. "What?"
"Wilder got bit today."
My second immediate impulse was to ferret out the kid who bit him and bite his little ass back. But that's just the Mama Bear in me.
"By who?" I asked.
"J.J. They were fighting over a toy and he bit him." At this point I peered into the room at the always adorable little J.J. He's a black kid, a few months older than Wilder, and he is quite cute. He sometimes runs up to me when I get there to pick him up. On this day, he was dancing on his tippy toes with a huge grin on his face, obviously happy and oblivious to his transgressions earlier in the day. I wanted to be mad, but I know he knows no better at this point, and besides that he was looking darn adorable with his big brown gleaming eyes. And, at some point my kid will probably be the aggressor, and I don't want to be reminded of how I blew my cool when he was the victim.
He did, however, leave marks. Grrrr ...
I found Wilder and he was clearly no worse for the wear. One thing I did forget to ask was if J.J.'s parents were told. I'll ask today. If Wilder was doing that, I'd want to know. And I want them to address it at home so that Wilder doesn't become this kid's chew toy again.
This morning, as Jerry was putting W's jacket on him, he said: "Now Wilder, if J.J. wants a toy you're playing with, give it to him." I wanted to add: "And if he bites you again, bite his little butt back — HARD."
But I didn't. Because that would be, like, wrong and stuff.
2. Last night I was giving Wilder his daily bath. We were picking up animal bath toys and going over what they were and what sound they make. I.E.:
"Pig. Oink oink."
"Duck. Quack quack."
"Sheep. Baa Baa" (Incidentally, Wilder has this one DOWN. I don't even have to show him the sheep. I just say, "What does a sheep sound like?" And he says: "Baaaa," clearly delighted with his knowledge of this particular farm animal. I have to post video of it soon. It's a very impressive "baaaa.")
And so on.
At some point, Wilder found a stray animal I hadn't reviewed with him. He picked it up, held it up to me, and then this came out of his mouth:
"Wha dat?"
What the ...?
"JERRY!!!" I yelled. "Get in here!"
At which point Wilder yelled: "Daaaa! Dada! DAAAAADAAAAAA!"
It was an elephant, which he did at least try to say. And he was very amused by my elephant noises, which sounded more like some sick or birthing swamp creature.
Anyway, our boy asked his first question, said his first two word sentence, if you don't count "thank you," which he uses liberally and only sometimes appropriately; or "nite nite," which clearly doesn't count.
He. Said. "Wha dat?"
And I couldn't be prouder.
1. I pick up Wilder from daycare each day around 3:30. The second I walked in the door, I was greeted by the somewhat-serious face of Miss Toni, who's one of Wilder's favorites. She handles the big kids' room, where Wilder sometimes spends time because he A) likes the big kids, and B) likes Miss Toni (and she adores him).
"I have something to tell you," she said, somewhat ominiously. Immediately, of course, my mind filled with images of Wilder having one of a myriad bad things happen to him. But then my sense kicked in and I knew if it was THAT bad they wouldn't have waited until I walked through the door to tell me.
"Uhh, OK ..." I said. "What?"
"Wilder got bit today."
My second immediate impulse was to ferret out the kid who bit him and bite his little ass back. But that's just the Mama Bear in me.
"By who?" I asked.
"J.J. They were fighting over a toy and he bit him." At this point I peered into the room at the always adorable little J.J. He's a black kid, a few months older than Wilder, and he is quite cute. He sometimes runs up to me when I get there to pick him up. On this day, he was dancing on his tippy toes with a huge grin on his face, obviously happy and oblivious to his transgressions earlier in the day. I wanted to be mad, but I know he knows no better at this point, and besides that he was looking darn adorable with his big brown gleaming eyes. And, at some point my kid will probably be the aggressor, and I don't want to be reminded of how I blew my cool when he was the victim.
He did, however, leave marks. Grrrr ...
I found Wilder and he was clearly no worse for the wear. One thing I did forget to ask was if J.J.'s parents were told. I'll ask today. If Wilder was doing that, I'd want to know. And I want them to address it at home so that Wilder doesn't become this kid's chew toy again.
This morning, as Jerry was putting W's jacket on him, he said: "Now Wilder, if J.J. wants a toy you're playing with, give it to him." I wanted to add: "And if he bites you again, bite his little butt back — HARD."
But I didn't. Because that would be, like, wrong and stuff.
2. Last night I was giving Wilder his daily bath. We were picking up animal bath toys and going over what they were and what sound they make. I.E.:
"Pig. Oink oink."
"Duck. Quack quack."
"Sheep. Baa Baa" (Incidentally, Wilder has this one DOWN. I don't even have to show him the sheep. I just say, "What does a sheep sound like?" And he says: "Baaaa," clearly delighted with his knowledge of this particular farm animal. I have to post video of it soon. It's a very impressive "baaaa.")
And so on.
At some point, Wilder found a stray animal I hadn't reviewed with him. He picked it up, held it up to me, and then this came out of his mouth:
"Wha dat?"
What the ...?
"JERRY!!!" I yelled. "Get in here!"
At which point Wilder yelled: "Daaaa! Dada! DAAAAADAAAAAA!"
It was an elephant, which he did at least try to say. And he was very amused by my elephant noises, which sounded more like some sick or birthing swamp creature.
Anyway, our boy asked his first question, said his first two word sentence, if you don't count "thank you," which he uses liberally and only sometimes appropriately; or "nite nite," which clearly doesn't count.
He. Said. "Wha dat?"
And I couldn't be prouder.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
My Funny Valentines
Today is a day you shouldn't be afraid to wear your heart on your sleeve, right? In that spirit, I want to shout from the rooftops my love for my husband and my son:
I sit at this computer stumped on how to begin this post about the two guys in my life, Jerry and Wilder.
Not stumped because I don't have the words to describe how much I love them and how lucky I feel to have them both. Stumped because words don't seem adequate to express how much light and love and wonder and laughter and joy they bring to my daily existence.
On the one hand, you've got Jerry. I have to start by saying his mama raised him right. She is a continual inspiration to me in trying to raise Wilder to be a nice boy who treats people well, who does nice things for people, who realizes that we all need to be treated with gentleness and tenderness, no matter how hard of a front we sometimes put on.
Jerry is kind. There is no better word to describe him. He's not "nice." He doesn't put on an act. He's a genuinely good-hearted man. "I'm full-grown," he sometimes says, and it's true. He's taken what life has given him, which hasn't always been lollipops and moonbeams, and spun it into gold. His heart is pure gold. If everyone approached life like him, the world, I believe, would be an incredibly better place.
I am one lucky as hell woman to be spending my life with him.
And then there's Wilder. Wow. Wilder. My funny, crazy, rowdy, hilarious little Wild Child. Giver of great loud kisses than end in "MWAH!!" An increasingly wonderful little hugger. The boy who pats my back when I pat his. One who's not yet too cool or too timid to look at me with unabashed love in his eyes. The little guy I made together with the love of my life.
It's a funny world — full of so much hate and violence and corruption and bad, bad stuff. It's heartbreaking. But I can be sitting there wondering, quite literally, when the world's seams are going to bust apart, and Wilder walks into my view. And all my doom, gloom and worry melts away. In short, he's always there to mend my broken heart.
How I feel about Wilder reminds me of a Big Bend trip that Jerry and I took nearly three years ago. We'd driven into the park on a particularly funky day. Jerry was sick. I was hyper-emotional and sad and, for no particular reason, missing my mom greatly. I'd been crying on and off, and Jerry suggested a walk and fresh air in Texas' beautiful national park. We got out of the car, walked around, checked out the desert landscape and, out of nowhere, ran across this one beautiful flower growing in this dry, cracked, chapped expanse of land. Now I love the desert — it's beautiful in ways that lush country isn't; beautiful in a haunting, striving kind of way. But most people see ugliness in the desert. And there was this flower that you had to give some credit. It gave a little burst of color, a little ray of sunshine, a little reason to have hope amongst great adversity.
And those things are the same thing my second little Valentine, Wilder, gives to me every second of every day. He's MY little ray of sunshine, and he's given me a reason to be happy — and hopeful — in the face of great heartache in this world.
So Happy Valentine's Day to you, Jerry and Wilder. You've both made my life magical.
I sit at this computer stumped on how to begin this post about the two guys in my life, Jerry and Wilder.
Not stumped because I don't have the words to describe how much I love them and how lucky I feel to have them both. Stumped because words don't seem adequate to express how much light and love and wonder and laughter and joy they bring to my daily existence.
On the one hand, you've got Jerry. I have to start by saying his mama raised him right. She is a continual inspiration to me in trying to raise Wilder to be a nice boy who treats people well, who does nice things for people, who realizes that we all need to be treated with gentleness and tenderness, no matter how hard of a front we sometimes put on.
Jerry is kind. There is no better word to describe him. He's not "nice." He doesn't put on an act. He's a genuinely good-hearted man. "I'm full-grown," he sometimes says, and it's true. He's taken what life has given him, which hasn't always been lollipops and moonbeams, and spun it into gold. His heart is pure gold. If everyone approached life like him, the world, I believe, would be an incredibly better place.
I am one lucky as hell woman to be spending my life with him.
And then there's Wilder. Wow. Wilder. My funny, crazy, rowdy, hilarious little Wild Child. Giver of great loud kisses than end in "MWAH!!" An increasingly wonderful little hugger. The boy who pats my back when I pat his. One who's not yet too cool or too timid to look at me with unabashed love in his eyes. The little guy I made together with the love of my life.
It's a funny world — full of so much hate and violence and corruption and bad, bad stuff. It's heartbreaking. But I can be sitting there wondering, quite literally, when the world's seams are going to bust apart, and Wilder walks into my view. And all my doom, gloom and worry melts away. In short, he's always there to mend my broken heart.
How I feel about Wilder reminds me of a Big Bend trip that Jerry and I took nearly three years ago. We'd driven into the park on a particularly funky day. Jerry was sick. I was hyper-emotional and sad and, for no particular reason, missing my mom greatly. I'd been crying on and off, and Jerry suggested a walk and fresh air in Texas' beautiful national park. We got out of the car, walked around, checked out the desert landscape and, out of nowhere, ran across this one beautiful flower growing in this dry, cracked, chapped expanse of land. Now I love the desert — it's beautiful in ways that lush country isn't; beautiful in a haunting, striving kind of way. But most people see ugliness in the desert. And there was this flower that you had to give some credit. It gave a little burst of color, a little ray of sunshine, a little reason to have hope amongst great adversity.
And those things are the same thing my second little Valentine, Wilder, gives to me every second of every day. He's MY little ray of sunshine, and he's given me a reason to be happy — and hopeful — in the face of great heartache in this world.
So Happy Valentine's Day to you, Jerry and Wilder. You've both made my life magical.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
It's VIDEO SUNDAY!!!!
We haven't had enough videos here lately, and in the meantime our kiddo has grown up a lot already this year. None of these are particularly riveting, or show much in the way of milestones -- they're just everyday shots of us drinking, playing, pooping (yes, pooping -- but not graphically) and dancing. So, without further ado, I give you Wilder, in live action:
Just playing in his highchair:
Do (or don't) watch to the end of this one if you do (don't) want to see Wilder make his "err, I'm pooping" face:
Monkeys, tigers and phone calls:
Ball, ball, ball, ball, KITTY!:
Wilder plays with one of his favorite toys -- the Ball Popper!!:
Wilder and I show off our poorly executed rug-cutting moves:
Just playing in his highchair:
Do (or don't) watch to the end of this one if you do (don't) want to see Wilder make his "err, I'm pooping" face:
Monkeys, tigers and phone calls:
Ball, ball, ball, ball, KITTY!:
Wilder plays with one of his favorite toys -- the Ball Popper!!:
Wilder and I show off our poorly executed rug-cutting moves:
Thursday, January 25, 2007
15 months: doctor visit, dustups and one serious 'do
First off, I would like to note that I am not responsible for the hairstyle in these pics. I have no earthly idea how Jerry got the kid's hair to fall (or rise?) like that, but in my mind's eye it involves repeated swirlies in the toilet followed by long periods of blowdrying. But, looking at it, it's amazing how much hair changes a face. I think Wilder, especially in the second photo, looks kind of like a rockabilly boy. Like he should be singing Stray Cat Strut or something.
Anyway, we had our 15-month doctor's visit this morning. He's 32.5 inches and 26 lbs. His head is 48.5 cm, as if that means anything to anyone (who measures their head anymore??) Anyway, he's 75th percentile in weight and head size (again, that's just odd to write) and 90th in height. Or, as his doctor likes to say: "You have a tall, skinny son with a big head." Err, thanks doc. She also refuses to quit calling him "Chunk" even having said the aforementioned statement. Or maybe she was referring to me ... At any rate, Wilder is healthy and besides the fact that he refuses to point to his body parts when you name them (that's on his "developmental checklist"), it seems his brain is growing as it should, too. I like to think that when I say, "Where are your EARS honey?" he's thinking "You have eyes to see them with, idiot ... why are you asking ME where they are."
On another note, Wilder had his first takedown today. I dropped him off at daycare and his contemporary there -- we'll call him Chase in case he has a litigious mother who ever finds this blog -- anyway, Chase runs up to Wilder with a wicked gleam in his eye after I put him down, grabs a fistfull of his jacket and literally drags him to the floor, at which point he refuses to let go. What does my tough boy do? Well naturally, he does what I would do if one of my 30-something-year-old co-workers insisted on dragging me to the ground as I walked through my office door. He starts crying and screaming. I mean, I was thinking "What the HELL kid?" at this "Chase," so I'm sure Wilder was too. Anyway, we got through it OK, and I was assured later in the day when I picked him up that it was an isolated incident. I know he's gonna have to learn the rules of playground justice, but I hardly want him suffering at the hands of a young Genghis Khan at the tender age of 15 months.
Finally, I feel photo No. 3 needs some explanation. When your kid has jacked up hair, you should make him feel better by jacking up your own. He loved it (I had a wee pony tail in the back, too). And, incidentally, this is the first time I've put ponytail holders in my hair in nine months. I'm planning on wearing them to work tomorrow. Hopefully no one will take me down in protest.
Love to all, K, J & W
Anyway, we had our 15-month doctor's visit this morning. He's 32.5 inches and 26 lbs. His head is 48.5 cm, as if that means anything to anyone (who measures their head anymore??) Anyway, he's 75th percentile in weight and head size (again, that's just odd to write) and 90th in height. Or, as his doctor likes to say: "You have a tall, skinny son with a big head." Err, thanks doc. She also refuses to quit calling him "Chunk" even having said the aforementioned statement. Or maybe she was referring to me ... At any rate, Wilder is healthy and besides the fact that he refuses to point to his body parts when you name them (that's on his "developmental checklist"), it seems his brain is growing as it should, too. I like to think that when I say, "Where are your EARS honey?" he's thinking "You have eyes to see them with, idiot ... why are you asking ME where they are."
On another note, Wilder had his first takedown today. I dropped him off at daycare and his contemporary there -- we'll call him Chase in case he has a litigious mother who ever finds this blog -- anyway, Chase runs up to Wilder with a wicked gleam in his eye after I put him down, grabs a fistfull of his jacket and literally drags him to the floor, at which point he refuses to let go. What does my tough boy do? Well naturally, he does what I would do if one of my 30-something-year-old co-workers insisted on dragging me to the ground as I walked through my office door. He starts crying and screaming. I mean, I was thinking "What the HELL kid?" at this "Chase," so I'm sure Wilder was too. Anyway, we got through it OK, and I was assured later in the day when I picked him up that it was an isolated incident. I know he's gonna have to learn the rules of playground justice, but I hardly want him suffering at the hands of a young Genghis Khan at the tender age of 15 months.
Finally, I feel photo No. 3 needs some explanation. When your kid has jacked up hair, you should make him feel better by jacking up your own. He loved it (I had a wee pony tail in the back, too). And, incidentally, this is the first time I've put ponytail holders in my hair in nine months. I'm planning on wearing them to work tomorrow. Hopefully no one will take me down in protest.
Love to all, K, J & W
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Agh! I mean, "AGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!"
As I write this, I'm mopping blood from my ears. My skull has split open. My eyes are permanently locked into an expression that would make a sane person wonder if I'd just seen a grizzly bear saunter into my house and eat my cat.
Yep, as the picture at right clearly illustrates, we've entered the screaming stage. As far as I can tell, there are three things that make Wilder scream:
1. A scream of delight. As in, "The kitty looked at me!! ... AGGGGHHHHHHHH!"
2. A scream of displeasure ... i.e. "I will continue to make this noise until daddy gives me his beer! AGGGHHHHHHHHHH!"
And, my personal favorite ...
3. A scream just to scream. "I have recently concluded that I have adjustable volume. AGGGHGGGGHHHHHH!"
(I swear he is screaming at me right now.)
Now I know this is normal. I know that I cannot scream back at him because it only encourages him. I know that his intent is not really to make my head pop off.
But I really, honestly, in that rookie-slash-clueless parent way, that my boy was too cute to scream. "He won't be a screamer," I thought. "Just look at that face. His international appeal would be ruined by acts of random and pointless screaming. He knows that. Nope, not my boy. He won't scream."
God I am the dumbest woman alive sometimes. Oh well.
The books and websites say funny things about coping with a screaming toddler. I'm supposed to say completely ridiculous stuff like, "Honey, use your INDOOR voice." He doesn't even know what "indoor" means. Furthermore, when your mom plays really loud music and sings at the top of her lungs while jumping around the room with you, I think those words would tend to lose a wee bit of their meaning. And I'll be damned if Wilder and I are giving up our aspirations to be future rock stars just so I use asinine phrases such as "indoor voice."
Gotta go. He's working his way up to a bloody good screamfest.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
SNOW DAY!! (In Pictures)
So, with 1/4 inch of snow on the ground, more than 400 schools and businesses are closed in Dallas/Fort Worth today. Including Wilder's daycare. Which means I'm home, taking the morning shift, until Jerry relieves me after noon. This makes two snow days in one week. Which is all fun and good, and the kid is of course great to hang with on a snow day -- but there is this little matter called "work."
Wait ... work? I forgot what that is already.
Anyway, in an attempt to make snow day more interesting, I've been taking pictures. Trying to document what it means to spend a whole day with Tazmanian Wilder. I'll try to post more pics throughout the day. But then again, this might be the only batch I get around to. These do not, of course, document the many hugs, climbs and body slams (hard to focus the camera when those are happening) -- just what goes on inbetween.
Mama, look! ...
It SNOWED!! (And by the way, I just pooped my pants ...)
You don't think this diaper change is gonna be easy, do you Mama?
First, I'll take my socks off ...
Hey, give me that foot. I wanna chew on it.
Feet, feet, feet, feet ... wait, feet are boring.
I think I'll sit up while Mama wipes the poop off her hand.
Sitting is so 10 months old. I (grunt) think (ooph!) I'll try ... (fart)
STANDING!!!! Wait, why is Mama putting the camera down so fast?
Ooooh, pretty pictures! I wonder what "you ruin your eyesight" means ...
Ducks! DUCKS!!!
Pooh? Pooh? Are you in there?
Come out come out wherever you AAARRREEE!
Hi Pooh!
I sure do love you.
I wonder if this is edible?
I'll cook Mama some eggs and bacon. She'll love it!
But I don't WANNA be a lacrosse player!
Wait ... I think ...
I need ...
a nap.
Wait ... work? I forgot what that is already.
Anyway, in an attempt to make snow day more interesting, I've been taking pictures. Trying to document what it means to spend a whole day with Tazmanian Wilder. I'll try to post more pics throughout the day. But then again, this might be the only batch I get around to. These do not, of course, document the many hugs, climbs and body slams (hard to focus the camera when those are happening) -- just what goes on inbetween.
Mama, look! ...
It SNOWED!! (And by the way, I just pooped my pants ...)
You don't think this diaper change is gonna be easy, do you Mama?
First, I'll take my socks off ...
Hey, give me that foot. I wanna chew on it.
Feet, feet, feet, feet ... wait, feet are boring.
I think I'll sit up while Mama wipes the poop off her hand.
Sitting is so 10 months old. I (grunt) think (ooph!) I'll try ... (fart)
STANDING!!!! Wait, why is Mama putting the camera down so fast?
Ooooh, pretty pictures! I wonder what "you ruin your eyesight" means ...
Ducks! DUCKS!!!
Pooh? Pooh? Are you in there?
Come out come out wherever you AAARRREEE!
Hi Pooh!
I sure do love you.
I wonder if this is edible?
I'll cook Mama some eggs and bacon. She'll love it!
But I don't WANNA be a lacrosse player!
Wait ... I think ...
I need ...
a nap.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ...
Hey Mama! I'm awake now, and ready for four more straight hours of non-stop activity!!!
Nooo, look at the CAMERA Mom!
This Michael Jackson fella sure makes good dancin' music.
Hey, why you lying down Mama? You tired or something? Get up. Get up. Getupgetupgetup. Dance!
Mmmm, the letter W is yummy.
Mmmm, so are Ramen Noodles. Thanks Papa!
(At this point, there is a six-hour break in picture taking while Wilder's mom goes to work)
I know I smell good after my bath, Ulf, by geeeesh! Stop with the kisses.
Nice grip Mama!
Did I mention that I am a devilishly handsome young man? Yes, well ... I am.
Ahh, one more round of Sesame Street with Papa before bedtime. Nite nite!
And, with that, we close. We had a FANTASTIC snow day. Thanks for sharing parts of it with us!
Love to all, K, J & W
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
No Hat, Mama
I forgot a little jewel of a tale that has something to do with Wilder's aforementioned dislike of winter clothing. I put a winter hat on him this morning. He took it off. I put it back on. He took it off. As I prepared to put it back on, he grabbed it and sneezed on it. Leaving a dime-sized glob of snot. Yep, that's one way of getting me to give up on the hat.
Sneaky little booger.
Sneaky little booger.
We Apologize For the Unscheduled Interruption ...
First, my apologies. Life has most decidedly gotten kind of crazy lately. I'll spare you the mind-numbingly boring details, but there just hasn't been much time to take pictures or write. I feel like I'm back at that point I was when Wilder was a newborn: I'm lucky to get a shower in. Only now I still have to go to work, shower or not. My lucky co-workers ...
We've had a spell of cold weather here lately. I realize my Colorado readers are thinking to themselves right now: Girl, your weak Texas butt doesn't know cold anymore. And they're right. I'm unbelievably thin-skinned now. But still, for Texas it's been damn cold. So we've had the opportunity to dress Wilder in a few more layers. He loves this, of course, and shows his love of scratchy wool and hats that cover his eyes and not being able to fully lay his arm down by his sides by showering us with crusty eyeballs and little peeps of (dis)pleasure.
Not much else to report. He's been remarkably healthy lately, and by noting this I've no doubt just induced a case of double pink-eye, strep throat and the chicken pox by next Tuesday. He's growing like crazy. Strangers never fail to comment on his size. I've heard comments lately that he's starting to look more like me. Poor little guy.
Speaking of comments, I just want to say thanks to those of you that visit regularly (or even unregularly) and leave comments. It means a lot to know you're reading and enjoying seeing Wilder grow up. And it encourages me to keep at this even during my busiest weeks. So, yep ... thanks.
Anyway, my pillow beckons. Some recent photos:
Look at me! I'm in LAYERS!
A typical late afternoon scene: watching the dogs play in the back yard.
Wilder hanging upside down, roughhousing with Papa. We do a lot of roughhousing lately. It brings us all great moments of pure bliss.
We've had a spell of cold weather here lately. I realize my Colorado readers are thinking to themselves right now: Girl, your weak Texas butt doesn't know cold anymore. And they're right. I'm unbelievably thin-skinned now. But still, for Texas it's been damn cold. So we've had the opportunity to dress Wilder in a few more layers. He loves this, of course, and shows his love of scratchy wool and hats that cover his eyes and not being able to fully lay his arm down by his sides by showering us with crusty eyeballs and little peeps of (dis)pleasure.
Not much else to report. He's been remarkably healthy lately, and by noting this I've no doubt just induced a case of double pink-eye, strep throat and the chicken pox by next Tuesday. He's growing like crazy. Strangers never fail to comment on his size. I've heard comments lately that he's starting to look more like me. Poor little guy.
Speaking of comments, I just want to say thanks to those of you that visit regularly (or even unregularly) and leave comments. It means a lot to know you're reading and enjoying seeing Wilder grow up. And it encourages me to keep at this even during my busiest weeks. So, yep ... thanks.
Anyway, my pillow beckons. Some recent photos:
Look at me! I'm in LAYERS!
A typical late afternoon scene: watching the dogs play in the back yard.
Wilder hanging upside down, roughhousing with Papa. We do a lot of roughhousing lately. It brings us all great moments of pure bliss.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Friday Night Baby Club
Wilder's friend Lea came over tonight. In this photo, I think he's practicing his "devilishly handsome" look before he swings around to turn on the charm. They're quite cute together. Lea: "Baby!" Wilder: "Baby!" Aww, you two crazy kids.
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