5.5

Sam.  Five and a half.  Who he is today.

Favorite food:  Pizza

Favorite TV show:  The shows on Animal Planet 

Favorite thing to do at home:  Ride my four wheeler

If you could visit anywhere in the world, where would it be:  The Mountains

Favorite color:  Blue

What is your favorite thing to do at school?  Color and draw

What do you think you do best?  Color

Coolest person on the planet:  My Daddy

Current Favorite Book:  Ten Gallon Sam, 

Current Favorite Song:  Long Black Train

What do you remember about yourself from when you were younger?:  I loved John Deere.

Favorite Season:  Fall

What do you want to be when you grow up?:  A farmer

Favorite snack:  Honey buns

Favorite thing to do on the farm:  Find the eggs

Best Friend:  Cannon, Cade and Parker

If you could have any wish, what would it be?:  To get a puppy

Best Memory:  Going to Tweetsie Railroad

Use three words to describe yourself:  Strong, tough and good

My Sam at 5.5 years.  My pride and joy. My sunshine.  My wonderful son.  My heart overflows with love for this boy.

A Well Check and Confirming Fears

Will had his 18 month well check today, scheduled in a timely manner after I completely forgot that he would, indeed, need an 18 month well check.  He has hit quite a growth spurt and has now surpassed Jack's 18 month stats but is still not as big as Sam was at this age.  I was thrilled that he wasn't due for any vaccines and enjoyed updating Dr. Mann on all the boys.  He asked how Sam was doing in school and I was proud to tell him how well he's doing.  And then he asked about Jack, if he was in preschool and, if so, how he liked it.  I proceeded to tell him about our struggle this year with preschool and that currently my middle child is a preschool dropout.  He reassured me that he would be just fine, preschool or not.  And at that very moment, I turned to see if Jack was listening to us as we talked about him.  And there he was.  Stretched out on the exam table, white tissue paper torn and scattered in a mess beneath him, emptying the contents of my wallet.  His little hands working at a frantic pace.  Quickly pulling out bills and change.  And just as quickly, shoving it into his pockets.  I smiled, shook my head and turned to Dr. Mann and said, "Well, there you have it.  That's him.  My middle child.  The one who keeps me on my toes."  He responded with a grin, "Yes.  The middle child.  That's his role."  He paused for just a second, pointed to Will and said, "Just wait, he'll be be the same way.  Probably even more curious, which I know is just nice doctor talk for "Brace yourself.  You haven't seen anything yet!"  It's something I've suspected for a while now, after catching him countless times on top of the kitchen table, pushing the chandelier like a swing.  And discovering little treasures he's added to the washing machine when I turn my back.  And being horrified over his obsession with tail pipes,  sticking his arm inside and pulling it out covered in a black, greasy mess.  Yes, my fears were confirmed.  I haven't seen anything yet.  Lord help me.

Mr. Appleseed

My handsome kindergartner all dressed up for Johnny Appleseed Day!  Minus the large frying pan he stuffed in his book bag.  Note to self...purchase a few medium sized pots the next time you're in Target.

In Case You're Wondering

In Case You're Wondering...


At they very moment your eighteen month old climbs to the top of the play area in Chick-fil-a (for the first time), your older son will need to go to the bathroom.  And getting your squealing baby to come down so you can rush your other son to the bathroom will be impossible.  And you are left with only one option, yell at your baby that you'll be right back and begin the sprint to the bathroom, stopping only to make eye contact with the hostess to tell her to please watch your baby who is somewhere between the cow car, the tunnel and the slide in the play area.  And just when you think it can't get any more stressful, you may have to stand outside the bathroom with your child (who is now dancing because he needs to go so bad) because he's afraid the employee that came in to change clothes may hear him as he handles his business.  And after the unsuspecting girl is done, the concept of making this fast (you know, since your baby is in the play area alone) goes out the window when your son refuses to avoid his normal practice of removing all his clothes to use the bathroom (a method his Daddy taught him that has something to do with avoiding the chance of airborne particles getting on your clothes), leaving you shuffling from the stall to the door in a desperate attempt to keep an eye on both of your children.  You may work up a sweat as you hurry back and forth, all the while muttering to yourself that your husband will have to explain to his son that the removal of one's clothes in a public bathroom isn't an option.  Airborne particles or not.


There's nothing like taking a two of your children to the pediatrician's office in their pajamas and no shoes because you are running so late.  Other mother's will give you the stink eye even after you push your boys into a corner, empty your bag and proceed to dress them.  And just when you feel that you've redeemed yourself in the mothering department, you may see someone you know in the other waiting room.  And that person may ask if you're there for your youngest boy's 18 month well check too (because your boys were born within days of one another) and you may have to explain that you are there for allergy issues and that your son's well check is another day.  And you may have to surrender your mom of the year title when you realize that an 18 month well check hasn't crossed your mind since you carried your second child to one two and a half years ago.  


It is possible to be so scared that you actually black out.  Like if you are at the top of the pull down ladder, shuffling boxes in your very dark attic and your husband chunks his coyote skin by your head at at high rate of speed.  And in that moment, you may be convinced that a rabid wolf has leapt out at you from behind a plastic storage bin.  And you may, indeed, black out for a small amount of time, only to regain your vision which is now a mix of blurry images and white stars.  And at that moment you may spin around and plop down on the ladder so fast that insulation falls to the ground.  And you'll certainly thank God for allowing you to maintain your balance and not slide down the ladder and flatten your horrified children below.  And you'll remember to make a mental note that if your husband says things like, "Hmm, what would you do if an animal was up there?"  or "Did you see that?  Um, I think the top of that container had animal pee on it!", he is not making small talk.  He is baiting you and is preparing to scare the *&%^ out of you.


And finally, when preparing to send your son to school decked out for Johnny Appleseed Day, you shouldn't wait until the night before to try pots on your child's head.  Because then, in an ironic twist, your kid may be the one wearing the colander on his head.  And in that moment, you'll really regret laughing at the "colander kid" in last year's class picture.  

Just Like Him

Because their need to be just like him is continually changing.  From matching Carhartt shirts and cowboy boots to pretend pocket knives and John Deere hats.  They want to be just like him.  So when the special order Wise Recycling shirts arrived, it was like Christmas morning around here.  I hope they'll always want to be just like him. And I'm pretty certain they will.

Still

He'll turn four soon.
And he's changing so much.
I notice his features changing,
Standing taller, running faster.
He's a boy now.
In every sense of the word.
He's growing up so fast.
Yet, he is still mine.
Maybe more so than his brothers.
Because he always wants me.
Always needs me.
Me.
Sometimes nothing else will do.
Just me.
At night, when he is sleepy, it's as if he's six months old again.
Because just like then, there is just one thing he needs to lull him to sleep.
Except now, unlike then, he tells me what he needs.
"Mama, I am tired.  I need your hair, Mama."
I'm not sure when it started.
But it's all I've ever known.
From the beginning.
Until tonight.
It's us.
It's what we do.
And I'm so thankful that, at nearly four years old, he needs me still.

Phone Thief

The local phone thief has struck again.  Thankfully, this time he only took (slightly) under 100 new photos and videos.  Sam has left the photo taking to his younger brother and he now only hijacks my phone to play music and check the weather.  Needless to say, my battery is almost always on it's last leg.  

Jack's latest photos...

"Sam, hey, look right here.  Just look!  No touching, dude.  Your finger is all up in my shot now."

"Hmmm...so this is what I'd look like if I Angelina Jolie was my mama."

"So that's what my nostrils look like up close!  I totally thought they were bigger than that."

"Don't tell anybody, but Will isn't the only one around here that thinks Yo Gabba Gabba! is one of the best shows on television.  Next to Wow Wow Wubbzy!, of course."

"I don't care that you need to check the weather, Sam!  I had it first!"

"See, Mama.  I told you it's not always me that throws the cushions on the floor.  Proof, lady.  Proof."

"Okay, let me take a random picture of these folks.  And let's make it blurry and vague so that Mama will rack her brain to try to figure out where on earth this is and who these people are.  Yeah, that would be funny.  Good luck figuring this one out, Mama."

"Man, my wrist is tired from designing all my future tattoos.  I am so talented.  Just look at this portfolio."

"And a close up of what I plan to cover my left arm and stomach with tomorrow."

"Just a warning, Mama.  Will is this close to being able to open the refrigerator.  And boy are you in trouble when that happens.  You may want to consider finding a way to lock the doors.  I suggest bungee straps.  You never go wrong with bungee straps."

"What the heck?  Is that my artwork stuffed in a drawer?  What do you have to do to make the refrigerator cut around this place?"

"Look!  There's more in here!  And that green scribble piece was some of my best work.  Thanks for the self esteem boost, Mama."

"I'm so depressed.  That was some of my best stuff, Mama.  I don't know when I'll feel like picking up a marker again."

"Now Sam, you clean that counter and Will, you clean the floor.  And I'll stand back and watch and take pictures to show Mama what hard workers we are."

"Why do you buckle Will up and not me?  You know the straps on my seat get twisted when I do it.  And then when I finish it's way too tight around my neck and I panic and start making loud choking sounds.  And then you have to unbuckle and fix it.  Let's just avoid all that. You buckle me up like you do Will.  Okay, Mama?   Thanks."

"Uh, oh.  I've run the battery down again on Mama's phone.  She's not gonna like that.  What should I do?  I don't know how to use the charger.  Here she comes!   Think, Jack, think!  Oh, I know!  I'll take one last picture that showcases my sweetness and she'll see it and won't be able to be mad at me.  Man, I'm so smart it's ridiculous."

At This Moment

Sweaty heads. One snoring. One quiet. Intertwined arms. Little minds dancing in dreamland. At this very moment. How sweet it is. Snoring and all.

Perfect

This afternoon was perfect.

A perfect afternoon for a little fishing.

Perfect, indeed.

Afternoon Chores

The boys' egg company is overflowing with a bounty of fresh eggs on a daily basis.

They love to help gather the goods in the afternoon with their Daddy and Poppa.

Necktie t-shirt and tatoos to gather eggs? Original, baby.

Sam enjoys the afternoon chore of egg collecting a little more than his younger brother.

My knee baby isn't too thrilled about being in such close proximity to all those feathered creatures. I wonder where he inherited that trait?!?

And my youngest? His only job is to be his Mama's bodyguard. And he nails it, shooing away any chicken that comes within five feet of me.

Bodyguard or not, my trip to the chicken's stomping ground will likely not be repeated any time soon. Or ever. Yeah, probably never.

So I've Been Told

Recently, I've been told...

Jack:  "Mama, I love you so much I could squeeze your head off!"

Sam:  "Mama, I love you so much.  Like even bigger than that big round thing we're living on (the world)."

If they only knew.

I love them even more than that.

So Hard

I wasn't prepared for this. The letting go. It sounds so cliche. Except it isn't. It sounds so silly. Because, really, it's just kindergarten. But it isn't silly. It is overwhelming. All I keep hearing in my cluttered mind is, "Wait! Stop! You can't do that. You can't leave yet. Wait. Something's missing. Stop, now! A piece is missing." I was so unprepared for this. This is so hard. And I'm just not doing well at all. And that's not cliche. That is real.

Dear World

Dear World,

I bequeath to you today one little boy ... in a crisp striped shirt ... with two brown eyes ... and a happy laugh that ripples all day long and a flash of soft brown hair that bounces in the sunlight when he runs. I trust you'll treat him well.

He's slipping out of the backyard of my heart this morning ... and skipping off down the street to his first day of school. And never again will he be completely mine. Prim and proud he'll wave his young and independent hand this morning and say "Good Bye"... and walk with little man steps to the schoolhouse.

Now he'll learn to stand in line ... and wait by the alphabet for his name to be called. He'll learn to tune his ears to the sounds of school-bells ... and deadlines ... and he'll learn to giggle ... and gossip ... and look at the ceiling in a disinterested way when the little girl across the aisle sticks out her tongue at him.

And now he'll learn to be jealous. And now he'll learn how it is to feel hurt inside. And now he'll learn how not to cry.

No longer will he have time to sit on the front porch steps on a summer day and watch an ant scurry across the crack in a sidewalk. Nor will he have time to pop out of bed with the dawn to kiss lilac blossoms in the morning dew.

No, now he'll worry about important things.

Like grades ... and what clothes to wear ... and who's best friend is whose. And the magic of books and learning will replace the magic of his toys and tractors.

And now he'll find new heroes.

For five full years now I've been his sage and Santa Claus and pal and playmate and mother and friend. Now he'll learn to share his worship with his teachers ... which is only right. But, no longer will I be the smartest woman in the whole world.

Today when that school bell rings for the first time ... he'll learn what it means to be a member of a group. With all it's privileges. And it's disadvantages too.

He'll learn in time that proper young men do not laugh out loud. Or kiss dogs. Or keep frogs in pickle jars in bedrooms. Or even watch ants scurry across cracks in the summer sidewalk.

Today he'll learn for the first time that all who smile at him are not his friends. And I'll stand on the front porch and watch him start out on the long, lonely journey to become a man.

So, World. I bequeath to you today one little boy ... in a crisp striped shirt ... with two brown eyes and a happy laugh that ripples all day long ... and a flash of soft brown hair that bounces in the sunlight when he runs. I trust you'll treat him well.


(adapted from the essay by Dan Valentine)

1.5

Eighteen months.  A year and a half.  I can hardly believe it, Will.  You are growing so fast, leaving the baby days behind as you embrace the excitement of being a little boy. Who you are today...

You are a little spit fire, full of energy and mischief.  Just when I think I can leave you alone for five seconds, you remind me that I can't. I've walked in on you standing in the middle of the kitchen table, pushing the chandelier back and forth.  I've discovered a flooded bathroom floor more times than I care to admit.  I constantly hear the chair squeaking across the kitchen floor and watch you use it to climb on top of the counter and eat m and m's out of the jar.  I recently walked out of my closet and watched you pull out my dresser drawers and use them as steps to crawl to the top.  And you, just like your older brother, Jack, are fully capable of opening any child proof medicine bottle.  In less than five seconds.  Your mischief and busyness leaves me shaking my head and struggling to maintain my sanity.  

You are always happy and so funny these days.  I tell your Daddy all the time that you may be our funniest boy, which says a lot with Jack as your older brother.  You love to dance and will break it down anytime you hear music.  Your dancing makes me smile and I love watching you add new moves to your repertoire.  I must say I still love the "swerve and twist" the best and you must know it because you do it all the time.  Your run still closely resembles a strut and it always looks like your chest is three seconds ahead of your legs.  You remain so friendly and I love watching you wave and smile at every stranger you meet.

Your eyes have more brown in them now and I think you may be my only boy with hazel eyes.  Your hair is still light brown and the summer sun has left you blond on top.  You have nine top teeth (still with one extra) and six bottom teeth.  You are cutting two more bottom teeth that have just broken through this week.  And it seems that overnight your eyelashes grew an inch and now curl perfectly.  You remind me so much of Sam at this age but you are also so unique and different.  You are so beautiful and your smile is so bright and so perfect.  That smile is what makes you you, sweet boy.

You still aren't saying much these days but, really, who needs to talk when you can scale kitchen cabinets and dresser drawers to get what you want.  You are really only saying "Mama," "hot," and "snack."  You enunciate quite well and can change any one syllable word into one with several syllables.  Like "hhhoooo-oooooottt"  and "snnnn-aaaaaa-ckkk."  This week you clearly said "Poppa" but you refuse to repeat it, no matter how much we beg.   And tonight when I caught you playing in the bathroom sink,  I scooped you up and said, "No siree Bob!", you mocked me and said "Bob! Bob!  Bob!"  You bark anytime you see a dog and you shake your head with such emphasis to say no that I worry you'll throw your neck out. Your dramatics continue to make us laugh like when you get "hurt" and you stop, squint your eyes shut, cover your face with both hands and whimper.  You swiftly remove your hands and peek through squinted eyes to make sure we're still watching and will not open your eyes until we've acknowledged your mishap.  And the sad face?  You are a pro at this one and will use it whenever you need to gain a little sympathy, especially after getting into trouble.  You can play heartbroken like no body's business.  And it works.  I'm putty in your hands and I know that you know it.

Will, my sweet, sweet Will.  Do you know how much I love you?  Do you know how happy you make me?  Do you know you make my heart overflow with a love that I can't explain or measure.  Thank you for eighteen months of smiles and kisses and late night cuddles.  I love you sweet boy.  More than you'll ever know.

The View From Here

At the beach.

Together.

Soaking up the last moments of summer before school begins.

Enjoying every moment.

Together.