Little Beckham

I've found one thing that keep my grumpy little one occupied and happy for a short while on the beach.

A ball.

Brother's got some serious footwork.

Future David Beckham?  

I'd be happy with that.  Minus all the tattoos, of course.

Something's Off

Something has been a little off with my baby.  He's been a whiny, clingy mess.  He loses it when I walk out of the room, fusses when I put him down and refuses to let anyone else take care of him.  We've seen a whole lot of this over the past few days.

And this.

Which means it's been a tough, frustrating week for me.  I'm not sure if it's teething pains, being away from home or a serious case of separation anxiety, but I do know something is definitely off with my boy.  And this certainly didn't help his mood...

His brothers and cousins, aided by his Daddy, digging a very large hole...

and putting my fussy baby in it.

My poor, sweet, whiny, clingy baby.  I promptly (after taking his picture, of course) removed him from the hole and chastised his hole-digging family members.  And I got the not so subtle hint that maybe Will's behavior this week was driving everyone nuts, not just me.                   

Two Things

1.  I love the sand stuck to his face and his long lashes.

2.  I never knew you could have a tan line on your eyelids.

On Display

I discovered this in our den recently.

Different creatures stratigically placed throughout the room.

Hanging on knobs and chairs.

Lining shelves and the mantel.

My oldest two had "been on a hunt" and had all their prizes out on display.

It seems my"hunters" also moonlight as taxidermists.

And that maybe we've tuned in to one too many episodes of Swamp People.

Winning the West

Hat...check.  Plaid shirt and boots...check, check. Belt, gun and rope for catching cattle... check, check, check.

A ziploc bag full of pretend food = a saddle bag full of necessities.

A canteen full of water for the long trail ride.

"I hear Indians coming!"

"Indians!  Indians!"

Aim.  Fire.  Repeat.

Throw your trusty sidekick on the back of your horse for extra help fighting off the "bad guys."

And when all else fails, dismount your horse and fight those bad guys face to face.

How the west was won.

Standley style.

Secrets

This boy.

His newest thing?

Secrets.

"Mama, I gotta secret for you."

"Mama, I need to tell you somethin'.  It's a secret."

"Just one more Mama.  I gotta tell you one more secret."

I hear this at least twenty times a day.

He is constantly nuzzling up beside me, whispering in my ear.

I hear "secrets" all day long.

The thing is, though, he tells me the same two secrets over and over and over again.

My sweet boy only has two juicy secrets in his arsenal.

1.  "I gotta tell you a secret.  Mama, you're my girlfriend and I'm your boyfriend.  And we're gonna get married.  Okay?"

2.  "Mama, I need to tell you a secret.  Sam is a do-do ball.  But don't tell him.  Okay?  Don't tell him, Mama."

Marriage and do-do balls.

Top secret stuff according to Jack.

Father's Day

This song.  I remember the first time I heard it thinking, that sounds like Jody.  And that sounds like Jody.  And that sounds like Jody too.  Every verse is an accurate account of Jody's childhood.  The broken glass.  The speeding ticket.  Fights.  Mischief.  Skipping class.  Football.  Even being heartbroken to leave home for college. This is his story.  And I have a strong feeling it will be their story too.  And for that, I feel so blessed.

Preschool Graduation

Sam graduated from preschool at the end of May.  And I was so very proud of him.  He was so handsome and did so well during the program.  He sang, demonstrated his counting skills and read a short book all by himself.  He was so composed and I stared at him, wondering where on earth the baby boy was that only yesterday I was cradling in my arms.  I found myself holding my breath as he sang.  And counted.  And read.  And I nearly fainted as I saw him tumble, head first out of his chair onto the stage.  In slow motion.  My baby got his legs caught in his gown and in trying to free his feet, he fell flat on his face.  I gasped and spouted out a "Lord, Jesus!" that I'm quite sure was recorded on every video camera and cell phone.  I knew that it was over.  There was no way he'd recover from such a public tumble.  I prepared myself to run and scoop him off the stage, freeing him from his embarrassment.  I watched him climb back into his chair, waiting for my cue to rescue him.  I knew there would be tears.  And a broken heart.  And I couldn't get my hands on him fast enough.  But my boy surprised me.  His eyes met mine and there were no tears, no sadness.  I gave him a thumbs up and mouthed, "It's okay.  It's okay." to him. He gave me a thumbs up and mouthed back to me, "It's okay.  It's okay."  And in that moment, I couldn't have been prouder of him.  Not his counting. Not his singing. Not his reading. Not his "graduating."  I found myself the most proud as I watched him stumble, fall, and pick himself back up again.  With a smile.  And a thumbs up.

So why has it taken me nearly a month to post images from that night and tell about the ceremony?  Because I can't bear to think about him starting school.  And being five.  And being away from us for so many hours a day. I can't bear the thought of it.  And yet I know that in two short months that time will be here.  And I'll blink and he'll be graduating from high school.  And if how I felt at his preschool graduation is indication to how I'll feel on that day, one of two things will likely happen.  I'll either need to be medicated or I'll be one of those parents who totally embarrasses her child by screaming, "That's my baby!  That's my baby!" as he walks across the stage.  For Sam's sake, I hope a nerve pill will be available.  

In Motion

He never sits still.

Which means I never sit down. 

15 Month Well Check

Will must be bothered by the fact that, compared to his older brothers at this age, he is the smallest of our three boys.  He must have overhead me the times I corrected people by saying, "Yes, he is a big boy.  But no, he's actually smaller than Sam and Jack were."  And he must have thought to himself,"Yeah, well, they may be bigger, but can they grow extra teeth?  Because I can!"

Yes, what I had suspected was confirmed for me today.  The tooth that is coming in on top of two of Will's front teeth, is an extra tooth (see it shining brightly in the picture above?).  A bonus tooth.  An unnecessary tooth.  A tooth that certainly makes my sweetie's smile original.  A tooth that will likely have to be removed.  So a visit to a pediatric oral surgeon is in our future.  

If only I had told Will that his head is much bigger than his older brothers...

Or that he can totally load a Nerf gun like a professional and that at this age his brothers had never even heard the word Nerf...

And that he can yell three full octaves higher than any child on the planet...

If only.

Maybe then he wouldn't have felt the need to grow an extra front tooth.

Lesson learned.

It's War

This is what greeted me when I opened the door to my washing machine.

And this is the pile of clothes I dropped as my heart hit my toes.

Another scare courtesy of my husband.

I'm officially declaring war.

Catching Up

Our days are busier than ever around here.  We are already enjoying the long, hot days.   Swimming, grilling and leaving a trail of wet clothes and dirty shoes everywhere we go. Every day is busy.  Every day is wonderful. Every day is a little overwhelming.  Every day is ridiculously long and shockingly short.  Every day is just as it should be.

Will has more teeth breaking through than should be allowed.  I currently count six, including four molars, which means my nights are a little tougher and I'm a little more tired.  But one big kiss from my little teething machine, and I instantly forget the sleepless nights and whiny afternoons.

Sam and Jack still insist on wearing their complete cowboy getup, or buckskins, every single day.  One hundred degrees or not.  You should see the looks I get in public.  My red faced, over dressed, cowboys cause their Mama to get some ugly looks.  As if I ask them to dress for an impending cold front before we head out to run errands.  

Sam begged me to watch Swamp People with him the other night.  I was disturbed on so many levels.  I found myself relying on my five year old to translate for me since I couldn't understand anything the folks were saying. Other than "alligator" and "that's a big one."  And is it really necessary to shoot the alligator that many times with the pistol?  After you've already shot him with a rifle?  And doesn't reality television pay well?  Surely it pays enough to replace that front tooth you're missing.

We've had a few calves born over the past few days.  Two are black baldies (cows with a black body and white face) and they both have one black eye.  One boy, one girl.  Jody called them the Black Eyed Peas before officially naming them Fergie and Will.I Am.  

Sam and Jack have decided that "soaking" is a great adjective.  They think "soaking" applies to anything and they use it any time the try to express the extent of something. "Soaking cold."  Soaking hot."  "Soaking tired." "Soaking hungry."  "Soaking mad."   I never knew I would hear the word "soaking" so much on a daily basis.

I would like to personally thank the individual that told the boys that cowboys wore their bandannas, or "dambannas" as Jack calls them, over their face to keep the dust out of their nose and mouth.  I have been forced to wear a bandanna over my face on several occasions to protect myself for the approaching dust storm in our house.  This a.) scares Will and b.) makes it hard to talk on the phone.  But they insist and I oblige.  Like any good cowboy's Mama would do.

Will thinks it's hilarious to slap his Mama in the face.  Like fry your jaws slapping.  His Mama doesn't think it's nearly as funny as he does.

After a tough day last week, Jody gave the boys a long talk about behaving and listening to me.  He told them that if they didn't start listening, he was going to call Nanny McSwamp to babysit them during the day.  He told them all about her, how ugly and mean she was, and that she had a long alligator tail.  Jack Standley was terrified.  Beyond terrified.  So imagine his reaction a few nights later when Jody used the tail of a dinosaur costume and a closet to further drive home his point.  Jack's listening has improved dramatically.

I have heard "do do ball" enough in the last five days to last me a lifetime.  On a positive note, my boys are improving their grammatical skills as they can now use the word as an adjective, a noun and a verb.

The boys have started asking us every night at dinner "who killed our supper?'  As in, who went out and hunted for whatever we are eating that night.  And they want details.  Tonight "Johnny Big Hunter" killed our pork loin while on a big wild hog hunt in Georgia.  They shoveled in that "wild hog" like it was their last meal.

And lastly, I accidentally ordered Justin Beiber's movie, "Never Say Never," this weekend on On Demand. And I didn't want to waste $3.99 so I watched it.  And now I totally get it.  And I'm not ashamed to confess that I now have strong case of Beiber Fever.  

Jack

Jack.  I really love being his Mama.  Even on those days when I've said, "JAAAACCCKKK, NOOOO! " nearly a thousand times.  He is my joy.  I love his spunk.  I admire his spirit.  I relish his laugh.  I crave his sweetness.  

Being his Mama means I will always have laughter in my life.  Just because I have him.  He's my constant, unwavering guarantee that my days will be full of laughter.  Doubled-over, cheek-aching laughter.  

And as predictable as it is to know that he will bring me laughter-filled days, exactly when those moments will happen is equally unpredictable.   

The other day, the boys and I walked up and down the aisles at Michaels, looking at stickers, sifting through coloring books and choosing our favorite paint colors.  As we passed the jewelry aisle,  Jack stopped and stared, admiring the assortment of colorful beads.  He darted up the aisle for a closer look. 

Jack, dressed from head to toe in his cowboy attire, grabbed every necklace and jewelry accessory his little hands could reach.  And my little cowboy, giddy with excitement, began to sing.  Loudly.  Very loudly.

Sing what?

Well, my boy's three year old brain must associates beads and sequins with the amazing Beyonce.  Because there, on the jewelry aisle of Michaels, dressed as John Wayne, Jack began to belt out "Single Ladies."  His impromptu concert went a little something like this...

Grab a necklace, shout, "Hey, Mama! Uh-oh, Single Ladies!  Single Ladies!  Wo oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh oh!" Don't let your cowboy boots keep you from being light on your feet.  Drop the necklace, grab a brooch, belt out, "Single Ladies! Single Ladies! Wo oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh oh!"  Completely ignore the store manager who is deep in conversation with a customer about which gauge wire is best for a bracelet.  Drop the brooch, grab a container of loose beads, sing at the top of your lungs, "Uh, oh!  Uh, oh! Single Ladies, Mama! Single Ladies! Wo oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh oh!" Flip your hands back and forth as you sing, just like Beyonce does.  Sing your heart out, but wrap the concert up as soon as you reach the end of the aisle.  Because, really, stepping stone kits don't quite evoke a need for Beyonce like beads do.

Jack.  My constant joy.  Man, I love him.  Because he sees nothing wrong with singing "Single Ladies" in the aisles of a craft store.  And neither do I.

Our Disney World

The pasture beside our house has become a maze of round hay bales.  280 bales of fresh cut oat straw and hay.  And my boys couldn't be any happier.  Forget an amusement park.  All we need around here to ensure a good time is an assortment of round bales beside our house. And maybe a good Indian costume. Just another benefit of raising little rednecks. 

Up Close and Personal

Oprah and Jack

15 Months

Will, my sweet, precious Will,

Who you are at the wonderful age of 15 months...

You are officially on the move and into everything.  You walk/strut/run everywhere you go and you squeal with delight if someone tries to catch you.  Being chased is one of your very favorite thing.  You love climbing the steps outside and my heart can hardly take watching you teeter up each one, holding on loosely to the rail.  But you insist on doing it yourself, rarely allowing me to hold your hand and guide you up or down slowly.  You are faster than I remember your older brothers being at this age.  You disappear in a flash and can be beside me in the driveway one minute, and scaling the ladder of the swing set the next.

You seem to enjoy making mischief and I'm realizing more and more that your personality is a lot like Jack's.  In other words, you keep me on my toes, just like he does.  Your newest tricks include...flooding the bathroom floor with water while you're in the tub if I step out of the room, resetting the dishwasher over and over and over again, opening and shutting doors and sneaking away to the toilet so that you can dip toilet tissue in the water and sling the wet paper all over the wall and floor.  

You still love Daddy's cows and you run to the door when he starts to head outside.  You fuss at the cows just like your Daddy, too, waving your arms wildly at them as you ride around on the gator.  Watching your Daddy feed has led to your new obsession with buckets.  You love a bucket and will play with a bucket and water longer than you do with any toy.  Your small, toy buckets are okay until you see one of Daddy's big feed buckets lying around.  You instantly drop yours and rush over to grab his. You hook it to your arm and struggle to walk with it as it drags the ground and bangs against your leg.  You'll be helping your Daddy feed in no time.

You are teething like crazy these days and I can tell your mouth really hurts.  You currently have eight teeth and you are cutting two additional bottom teeth and four molars.  Your determination to run everywhere means you take your fair share of tumbles throughout the day and that I am in a constant state of worry.  I've already lost count of your bloody noses and busted lips.  You seem to get bigger each day and I see your appearance changing from a beautiful baby to a beautiful little boy.  Your hair gets a little lighter every day that we spend outside and I'm so happy that your sweet curls still appear on humid days and when your hair is wet.  

You dance anytime you hear music and watching you makes me ridiculously happy.  You are so friendly, waving at everyone you see, happily smiling at strangers.  You are so sweet and loving and you freely give us all hugs and kisses.  Your brothers adore you and you light up every time you see them.  You watch them closely, learning so much from them.  

I am so thankful for you and the abundant joy you've added to our lives.  It's been a wonderful fifteen months sharing my days with you.  And I know every day to come will be just as wonderful.  Because of you.  My sweet, fifteen month old you.  I love you, Will.  More than you'll ever know.

Five Things

1.  My knee baby has developed a sudden love of showering his lucky Mama with flowers.

2.  He carefully chooses and picks the perfect one.  He's a little less careful with his boots, leaving a path of trampled day lilies behind.

3.  He smells and examines every pick,  leaving flower "dust" on his nose and hands.

4.  He proudly brings me every bloom and after I marvel over it and tell him it's "the prettiest flower I've ever seen," he asks, "You like it, Mama?  It's not orange, Mama.  It's lel-low."    And then he rushes around to find the perfect spot to "plant it back."

5.  I treasure every single flower he gives me.  And I treasure every single minute of being his Mama.