It's a Festivus miracle!!

It's a Christmas extravaganza!!

What a Christmas for baby P (he really isn't a baby now (tears), he is more like a little boy).

We had so much fun visiting. Playing with Jake, hiding under the table. Catch with uncle Charlie. Getting confused because Mike looks so much like daddy. Playing safari with aunt Jody and chase with aunt Francie. There was so much new stuff that some of it had to be shipped ups because the car was stuffed completely full.

There were so many new clothes (not that P gives one whit about clothes except how to take them off), but they are a hit with the ladies. I have been stopped in the store several times with a "he is soooooo adorable" (mean look from the boyfriend) while sporting a new Christmas outfit.

He loves all the books so much that I showed him the sign for book last night and today he is doing it after handing us a book to read to him.

It is amazing to me how many new words (in sign and spoken) he learned in the last week. From calling after Anna when she went into the bathroom to take a shower to "boy" for the driver of his safari truck and a picture of Jackson and Fisher. He started signing for sure- all done, more, book, momma, and best of all grandma, which he did when Jackie walked into the house.

To My Son in His Second Year

I am amazed by you.  The discerning look in your eyes as you examine leaves and rocks on the ground.  The wonder you show as you realize throwing the ball to Jak means he will run and get it, bringing it back for you to throw again.  Every brave step you take toward something that used to frighten you.  I have been remiss in keeping up with the little milestones.  What week did you first cut a tooth?  It was in the summer, you were barely 6 months old, and the bottom two teeth peeked out together.  We ate bananas on the back porch at Wachesaw, and you stared for hours at the man cutting the grass outside next to the water. 

You took your first steps into my arms in the middle of September 2012, right at 10 months old.  After that, you ran.  Everywhere.  Usually with a toy in one hand held high in front of you, the flag to your tiny one-man charging cavalry.  And now, every day that I come home from work, you storm into the kitchen as you hear my keys in the lock, barely able to contain yourself, and still stop to pick up a toy or a Tupperware lid or a piece of dog food on your way, your gift with which to greet me.  You lift up your hand and give to me the only thing you have, whatever it is, and I am truly grateful every time.

You say "Ma-ma-ma."  It's your word for me.  You say "Da!" for your father.  You say "Cha!" to call Jak, and you imitate his howls. 

I have a big blue yoga ball I used during labor with you.  At first you were so afraid of it.  It is almost as tall as you, and so I can imagine, intimidating.  When you were 7 months old or so, you began to pluck up the courage to confront this, The Big Blue Ball.  Daily, you'd get a little closer before scrambling away.  And then one day your father peeked into your room to find that you were just inches from touching the ball, his brave boy.  From then on, the ball was a game.  And in general, anything round, anything that bounces, anything that can be thrown is your favorite toy. 

Making sounds is your most recent favorite playtime agenda.  Monkey, wolf, owl, dog, car.  So far.  You point most deliberately at the things that interest you.  A picture of a boy in your favorite book. The page that lists all the food eaten by The Hungry Caterpillar on Saturday.  You beg to be allowed outside into the backyard so you can listen and look for birds.  You are using the signs for bird, milk, music, ball, more, help, and all done, but you understand many more than that. You know what it means to go to the potty, even if it's not your favorite place to sit.  I let you get up as soon as you ask to, as we are only teaching you to be aware of the potty, and don't expect you to use it of your own accord for some time.  But when I sign for potty, sometimes you look down and do it!

Your favorite game is "Chase," which explains itself.  We chase you, you turn around and chase us, the melody of your laughter filling the house and my heart all at once.  You are so beautiful. 

I want to always be kind to you. My father was not always kind to me, and my mother, out of frustration and sadness perhaps, was not always kind either.  I will not spank you, as I was spanked and don't believe it does anything except teach children that big people are allowed to hit smaller ones, and that violence is an answer to something.  I believe that children must be able to trust their parents if they are to gain the confidence and independence necessary to navigate this big world.  If I commit violence against you, who will you trust? I think that striking children is an insult to their intelligence, as it assumes they cannot understand any other way of communication.  I will never leave you to cry alone.  Abandonment is cruel, and you are too small to rightly manage all the enormous emotions you have while at the same time not having the language to express them.  I will promise that whenever you cry, your father or I will hold you through it.  There are people who think babies can be manipulative, but I think manipulation is reserved for adults who have the benefit of years of life to understand the intricacies of human emotion and behavior, and not for little children who only want to feel love, and who only have a few spare tools in their box with which to communicate. Crying and stomping your feet is your way of saying, "I'm frustrated.  I don't understand.  Hold me." And hold you, I will.   I suppose in writing to you over the years I will explain many things, but these have weighed on me in the last week.

Last Friday, there was a man who went into a school full of small children and took their lives.  Twenty children and six grown-ups are not in the world anymore because this man was very sad and very sick, and he could not get the right kind of help to make him well again.  I have been sad for many days now thinking about those children and their families.  People always say to look for the bright side of things.  I don't believe there is any bright side to something like that.  Sometimes, things are just what they are, and this thing is sad and terrible.  But I will say this:  When bad things happen to other people, it makes me think of how lucky I am to be here in this world and to have someone as perfect and as beautiful as you. It makes me think of how fortunate I am to have someone who loves me as much as your father loves me.  And it makes me remember that I want to always be kind.

Patton, you are the most important person in the whole world.  I love you.

Mom

December 19, 2012

Confidence and Spirit

The first black eye.  He is full tilt 100% and he is so confident when he stands. He had a sock and was waving like a checkered flag while balancing on the chair with just his finger tips touching. He waved way too hard before I could get to him and boom, right on the face. I told him that I was proud of his confidence and spirit and those two things would cost him a lot in the future.

Conquering the World, One Baby Step At A Time

Patton likes to do everything, and I mean everything, standing up. Apparently he wanted to pet Jak today. Below is the progression of what happened.

Well! You don't say!

Tim and I have been half-heartedly trying to teach Patton sign language over the past few months.  Okay.  Tim has been consistent.  I have been all over the place with it.  But yesterday, lo and behold, Patton randomly signed "milk" to me while nursing!  I couldn't get him to repeat on command but he did it once again last night and now today, it's the only thing he wants to do.  He crawls on top of me, starts tugging at my shirt and frantically signs, "milk! milk! milk!"  Even while lying down for a nap today, he lifted his lazy hand while drifting off and signed, "miiiiiiillllllllkkkkk........."  It's his new favorite thing, and I can just see the excitement in his eyes every time he realizes all over again that he's gotten it right. 

My kid is 7 months old and he can talk!

Like a Weed

A Letter to Patton

I wrote most of this letter in September. It'll be folded up in an envelope ready for Patton to read when he gets ready. Until then, I'll share it with you.
To my son Patton,
Your daddy will pick on me for being wordy and putting down on ten pages what ought to be able to be said in just one line.
"Why not just say, 'Dear Patton, I love you,'" he says.
But he knows that I write as much for me as for you, and he loves me so much, he would read through a hundred thousand pages if that's how long it took me to say what I needed to.
I guess mostly what I want to do here is tell you a little bit about your daddy and me, and to get down on paper just what it is we set out to do here, bringing you into this world.  I just want you to know who we are and what we wish for you, before you get here. So no matter how life turns out, this is what we were aiming for, for the record.
I didn't know I would marry your daddy the very first night I met him, but it didn't take me very long to figure it out. By the third or so time I saw him, I knew, and I even gave him a hint that night to say I knew what was to come for us (but that's another story I'm sure we'll both give our own versions of to you one day).  But I will tell you this much now:  Your father is the best man I have ever known.  He loves me like one loves an old familiar song from childhood, and I love him that same way. He thinks of me before anything else, and my happiness fuels his own.  My heart swells up three times with overwhelming love every day as he crosses my mind, and I will thank whatever gods are appropriate for his presence in my life forever.  I really am the luckiest girl in the whole world, and I could never, ever rightfully ask for any more than I have right at this moment, for all the world's greatest things have been given to me in your father.
Until now, that is.  I still marvel at the idea you are coming, and am wholly unprepared for what I am told will be the new best day of my life.  How does one prepare for such a day?  You aren't supposed to get here until November 23, but I can feel you getting bigger all the time and have a small fear you will get here before we've finished all the normal preparations.  I could be a mother any day soon, it's really all up to you.
But let's back up for just a minute -- my first hope for you is an important one.  I hope that one day when you find someone to love, that you love them the way your daddy loves me.  And that you find someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved.  Be kind to each other, remember to say "please" and "thank you;" be the one to get up in the middle of the night to get the water, and find someone who offers to get up instead. If you can do this,darling, I promise you that everything else in your life will fall into place.  Everything.  If you can get the love part right, I will guarantee you happiness.
I want you to know that there isn't a whole lot in life you can get really, irreversibly wrong.  What's important is that you always try to do the next right thing, and sometimes, that won't be very clear.  It's okay to mess up.  It's okay to go with your best guess because you don't know the right answer.  Life is not about getting it all right.  I sure didn't. (I bet your Grandma Jackie will be happy to fill you in on the details of my delinquent teen years). But even as an adult, I have messed up a lot of things.  I have made wrong decisions and wasted time and money.  I have hurt people I loved and hurt myself, too.  What makes all that okay is that I was willing to go back and fix it.  I mended the broken things and made up for lost time.  I earned more money and apologized to those I hurt.  I began to treat myself well. And things turned out alright. So it's okay to mess up.  Just own it.
I remember the first time your dad talked about planning for you to get here. It was about three years ago. He knew that my life's goal and purpose was to "have a regular family and not mess it all up" (more on the kind of upbringing which produced such a goal later, when you're older), and he was finally ready for a family too. We struggled trying to get pregnant for a long time, and there was a time that we thought you were on your way, but I lost you to a horrible monster called The Blighted Ovum. My heart was so heavy. I had felt a sense of unease about the pregnancy all along, so it was less of a surprise to me and more of a nail in the coffin I thought God was telling me I deserved.  I almost gave up for fear that the heartache of another loss would be my undoing. But your father picked up my broken soul and hushed the alarm. He told me you would get here. He told me it was okay to be sad.  I collapsed into his arms more than once in the coming months, but they were strong arms, and I healed slowly in them.
The second time a pregnancy test yielded a positive result, I had only taken it out of habit. I had no symptoms, and my period wasn't even due for another week. But I grabbed the stick and walked into my closet to peek at the results. Falling to my knees, I spoke aloud to myself, "I'm pregnant." It was a whisper, more than that, it was a prayer spilling out of my mouth, hushed so that no one would hear in case it went unanswered. But I knew. I knew this time you were really, really coming. I fell madly, desperately, wildly in love with you kneeling  right there in the messy floor of the walk-in closet that your father built for me, wide-eyed, white knuckles gripping a drug store pregnancy test, surrounded in dirty laundry.
Since then I have only thought of how to be the best mother for you. I have fallen in love with your father all over again, his giddy, boyish excitement overtaking him on a daily basis as he readies for your arrival. He may combust with hungry anticipation, his readiness to be your father drips off of him. We are both completely inconsolable in our impatience.
So that's why I've started writing to you. Not just to say what I want to say, but as a kind of exercise to keep track of all the important things I want to teach you as your mother. This will not be the only one, but I think it is the most important. Love, my dear. Love with your whole heart. It will never fail you.
In all things I am hopelessly yours,
Mom