Following a very dry holiday season, we are finally getting some rain in northern California. This time last year we were practically drowning, and had to make sure that the crawl space under the house didn’t get too flooded, lest we end up with rain water INSIDE the house. Because Gideon had just started walking when we moved to this house, I kept letting him run around outside in the rain probably longer than most other parents. He really enjoyed it then, and still does.

Or at least he did before he tripped over his rain boots and fell into a puddle today. I only laughed quietly to myself when his back was turned.

This was the sunset as seen from our local soccer field a few nights ago. I took the boys there just before dinner so we could get some fresh air and a little perspective following an extremely difficult day. It worked… for me, at least.

Things have been pretty insane at our house these past two weeks, and mainly because the illness that started with Stefan and Audric spread to me and Gideon (who, thankfully, only got a mild version), and basically we haven’t gotten more than a handful of hours a sleep a night. Every night.

As you can probably imagine, this situation has created A LOT of stress and none of us have been easy to deal with. Stefan had to miss a day of work so that I could take fistfuls of meds and indulge a nap without children beating down my bedroom door. And I’ve come close to dropping off both kids at the local orphanage given how challenging they can be when sick AND tired. Go figure.

I said to Stefan that the boys like to take me right to the edge, then dangle off my neck. He said that was a scary metaphor. I said I was being diplomatic.

But things are finally starting to calm down a bit and I am eternally grateful, if only so that I can enjoy a somewhat normal night’s sleep in the near future. Then this morning I noticed that Audric’s two top teeth are popping through his gums.

Maybe he won’t notice.

A cowboy hat for those days when he feels like adventuring.

Apparently, Santa can read toddler scribbles and Gideon got almost everything he asked for this year. We don’t want to encourage too many gifts during the holidays, and Gideon was overwhelmed as it was with the number of gifts he received from various people, but he was ridiculously excited to find actual presents under the Christmas tree and to discover that Santa had eaten the cookies and milk he left out the night before.

He’s since recovered from his excitement and managed to share his new toys with Audric and even with us once in a while. I think the holidays are his new best friend.

Meanwhile, Audric wasn’t impressed. But he did get a few new teddy bears and some clothes, including the most adorable hat ever made for babies. Ever.

So I think he’s okay with the fanfare. For now.

It was really nice to spend some quality time with my boys this year. Being the only girl in the house is sometimes kind of nice.

Five days ago, you threw your last pacifier (known as a “wee” around here) in the garbage can. You did it unbidden, and it followed a rather long weaning process we started about six weeks ago. The pacifiers were becoming a problem, since you kept them firmly in your mouth for hours during the day and were starting to get a little rash around your lips from the collected saliva and dirt.

Plus you talked funny while holding a piece of rubber in between your teeth. Imagine what future dates would have said had you asked them to “kith” you?

Yeah, no kidding. You’re welcome.

Truthfully, you didn’t pick up a pacifier until you were almost ten months old, and it happened then because you were waking up a few times a night to nurse and we thought the pacifier would help wean you off the breast for better sleep. We were right, but then it became a habit. And as habits go, this one made you think that you couldn’t go more than a few hours without that fix, helping to alleviate any anxiety, tiredness or boredom you felt throughout the day.

But this story is remarkable because while the past few days have been tough (like any junkie, you have gone through withdrawal and its been filled with tears directed at everything but the true villain), you’ve stuck to your guns and have emerged on the other side bravely and resolutely. Only once have you asked for the wee, and only after a tiring morning of much outdoor time. I have let you be the person to throw each pacifier (there were six) in the garbage as each one reached its expiration point, and you were very mature in handling the entire experience.

Your father and I have never been prouder, as it is evidence of the incredibly self-possessed person you are becoming. But I must admit it has been a little heart-breaking to watch our two-year-old son walk alone to the garbage, step on the pedal, and toss in the things he has held so dear to his heart. Quite the experience for all of us, I guess.

So now we are “wee-less”, and you are continuing on your path to growing up with hopefully straighter teeth and clearer diction.

Speaking of clearer diction, during the past three months, you have shocked your father and me with the witty and intelligent banter you repeatedly engage in. It’s like you intuitively get how to be social, and can fit yourself right into any conversation being had, whether you’re invited or not.

Your imaginative play skills have skyrocketed, and you spend much time during the day having long conversations with your toys, be they machine, animal or person. You have memorized most of the books you own– not an insignificant feat considering how many there are– and you now read them to us or to yourself.  You have also learned the words to many real songs (not just the ones you still like to make up about household items), and can sing more or less on-key.

Great White Way, watch out.

I’m also amazed, as are strangers we meet, at how engaged you are when other people are present, responding to their questions as best you can and offering a greeting and farewell in proper order. I have been complimented several times by complete strangers at how polite and calm you remain while I talk to other adults, a remarkable trait for a person as young as you. I always respond that I am very proud of you, and will be even prouder if you still exhibit this character when you turn thirty.

(Note that I’m glaring fiercely at your future self as I write this, young man.)

So, this week you turn thirty months old and we now march forward to the latter half of your second year. I can hardly believe it. The proverbial statement about time and flight holds true, and my neck hurts from the speed at which it all happens. Despite the bad rap, I actually think the second year of a child’s life is wonderful, filled to the brim with new physical and mental skills that help turn you into an adult, and I will miss this year. The tantrums I can do without, of course, but even when you are at your worst I see the growth that is happening and love that.

And I love you. Keep changing for the better, tigerito, but don’t ever stop being who you are.

Con mucho amor para siempre,

Mami (“Okay, Mama. Okay.”)

This is not a habit that I liked very much, as it meant our two-year-old was asking me about twenty times a day if it was time to watch TV yet and preferred that to playing outside. A pox on the house of television, as far as I’m concerned, given how readily it rots brains with senseless entertainment and asks us to buy tons of junk we don’t need in return.

Yes, spoken like a true communications professional, right? Well, I do this for a living, so I know better than to trust anything that’s put in an electronic box and repeated 1,000 times during the course of a season. Someone’s trying to sell you something, so watch out.

Anyway, this habit emerged probably because there was a newborn in the house and not a lot of time to entertain said toddler, and before I knew what was happening I was battling him every day on what we could watch and when. So about two months ago I put an end to it, telling him that we would be watching only one hour of television a day and only in the evening as I prepared dinner. End of story.

(We do watch YouTube videos on my iPad occasionally, and this takes the place of his alloted television time, but more on this later.)

At first, there was a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth, as the television addiction reared its ugly head and Gideon insisted that he “NEEDED” to watch Dora or Mighty Machines or Kipper or whatever other children’s show we get on Netflix Instant. But after the tears dried up and he realized this was the new world order, he stopped whining and just got super excited when it was finally time to watch his special show.

The unintended consequence of this is that the rest of the world disappears during that hour of television, regardless of who is in the room or what is happening in his immediate surroundings. Useful when I’m juggling dinner on the stove and an over-tired infant who needs to go to sleep IMMEDIATELY.

Not so good when one of us is trying to get his attention to do something and he’s acting like we’re part of the wallpaper.

This past week, Stefan and I were indulging in a rare Saturday afternoon conversation with each other on the couch while contemplating what to make for dinner. Gideon, who was especially enjoying his alloted one hour, was standing about a foot away from the television (I’m sure some of you are writhing in your seats now after reading that last sentence. Sorry guys, but that myth was busted years ago.), and was acting more and more annoyed. Finally, in a moment of exasperation he turned to me and said, “Excuse me, please stop talking.”

Impeccable manners, that one.

****

We’re getting ready for Christmas around here, and the excitement is mounting. This will be the first Christmas that Gideon really gets what’s happening and he has been writing letters to Santa almost every day now for about six weeks. By “writing letters to Santa”, I mean he sits down at the kitchen table with a pen and paper, and scribbles what approaches a list at least by design.

I’m usually ordered to dictate the words for these letters, as I guess he thinks I know what he wants as well as he does. Which is true, considering how much time we spend together. But the list just gets longer and longer, and lately has been changing frequently so I’m corrected all the time.

“No, Mami. Not a snowplow. A TOY tractor!”

Good thing you emphasized the “toy” part, cause otherwise Santa might bring a real tractor, I tell him. And then where we would park it?

Today we were watching YouTube videos while Audric was taking a nap, and as usual he requested that we watch talking cows. Yes, believe it or not this is a search term for YouTube and turns up a remarkable number of videos with talking cows of varying kinds. Some rated G, some not so much.

So I usually point out the ones that he can watch and skip the rest. And as we were snuggled on the couch watching these videos on my computer, he turns to me and says, “Mami, I’m going to ask Santa for a talking cow.”

“Really?” I ask. “A talking cow. You want a talking cow for Christmas?”

“Yes, a TOY talking cow.”

Thank goodness, child. Cause THAT’S what we need in this house: Another chatterbox.

Thank goodness my family doesn’t rely on income from  my blog in order to put food on the table, cause if that were the case we would starve. 

As usual, I sort of have good reason to not have updated this site in a month. It looks something like this:

No, this isn’t actually our house but yes, it IS just what it looks like: Dozens of cardboard boxes laid flat on a front lawn, awaiting a steamin’ pile of smelly compost and mulch to cover them.  Our sheet mulching project happened over the span of two weekends, wherein Stefan and I (with a lot of help from our neighbor and friend J) layered 22 cubic yards of mulch and compost across our entire front lawn in an attempt to cultivate more than just weeds.

In between those weekends, I was collecting boxes, removing tape and labels and doing research on how to best lay down those sheet mulching layers.

That was a big project, but thankfully now we can sit back and let the rain and worms do their thing until the spring comes, when we finally get to start planting pretty things.

And because nothing is easy in our lives, during this time Audric contracted his first major childhood illness: roseola. Like his brother, it started with a ridiculously high fever that went on for almost 48 hours, then miraculously broke and was followed by tiny red bumps all over his body.

I don’t know where this kid got this crap, since he can’t walk yet and I’m always carrying him around when we go outside, so he doesn’t really touch anything. The little petri dishes that are toddlers are drawn to him, however, and I’m always having to stop and let them pet him when we’re out and about.

Well, you see that? I guess I just answered my own question.

In any case, glad that’s over with but wishing next time someone could just smack me with a 2 x 4 instead. I then a) wouldn’t have to lose 10 years off my lifespan worrying about whether I should rush my six-month-old with a fever to the emergency room and b) I might actually get some sleep.

Speaking of sleep, there hasn’t been much of that around these parts lately. In addition to illness, Audric also appears to be experiencing early separation anxiety or he’s getting ready to crawl, causing him to wake up several times a night for a little cuddle with mommy and, while we’re at it, a little boob action. He’s a little crankier than normal but no less for wear.

I, on the other hand, feel like an earthworm trying to cross a four-lane highway–highly stressed, and wondering if it will ever end.

I suppose we escaped the typical newborn sleep-and-wake cycles that other parents experience and are now paying for it, but damn! I WAS doing just fine, thank you very much.

All of this, plus an insane idea I had again this year to attempt NaNoWriMo while preparing for the holidays has meant that I’ve been too exhausted to write anything else, including for this blog.

Where’s that damn personal assistant when you need one?

My grandmother used to say that every child is born into this world with a loaf of bread under each arm, meaning that even if parents don’t have the means to support said child, the universe will provide for it and help it find its way.

I feel that this saying rings particularly true for you. Not because your parents don’t have the financial means to support you or your brother, but because you have contributed so much to this family in just the six months that you have been a part of our home.

You have brought not just one loaf under each arm, caballito, but a little bakery.

To be honest, we never expected you in our lives. Sure, we had thought about having a second child and were thrilled when we found out I was pregnant. But the baby in our heads didn’t quite match the baby that we now know and love. Yes, you babble and coo, are cute when you take a bath and not so cute when you throw a hissy fit about losing a toy. In those ways, you are like every other baby in the world.

However, and I know I’ve said this before, you exhibit such a complex, well-established personality that you seem to have been born more a child than a baby. From your deep laugh when your brother plays with you, to the way you crane your neck around the sofa to smile at your father when he comes home, to the look of joy on your face when you discovered how to clap this week, you seem a complete person in a small body. 

Although, not THAT small, kid. Most strangers confuse you for a one-year-old given your size, and they outright call me a liar when I tell them you were only born a few months ago. Trust me, being the tall kid will eventually be way cool, especially when you’re trying to buy beer and you’re under age. But you didn’t hear that one from me.

Your strength–both physical and emotional– is incredible. You’ve almost made your father and I cry when you’ve whacked at us during excited spells. When you get tired, you grab my face in between both your rather large hands and squeeze as hard as you can, like a polar bear trying to make a penguin poop.

Yet as the person that spends many hours a day watching you, I am astounded by the quiet strength you exude. You are rather bashful when meeting people for the first time, burying your head in my shoulder with a smile. But even when startled you compose yourself quickly and if your brother, for example, is screaming in your ear, you stare at him straight on…and you yell back.

This could be good or bad when you become a toddler. Of course, I’m looking forward to finding out.

When your brother was newborn, I wrote a letter to him that included some promises I thought important to make as a parent. I won’t repeat the same letter to you now, cause that would be cheating. But I will tell you that the same promises hold true for you as well. Additionally, I hope both your father and I will challenge you enough to keep you honest, and show our love enough that you become the amazing person you’re meant to be.

I know that the days in which I will be able to bury my face in your neck are numbered, as are the days in which you will want to bury your face in mine. This knowledge breaks my heart and I try not to think about it too much. But until that point in time, and even ever after, Sweet Audric, I promise to love you. 

Happy Six-Month Birthday.

Con mucho amor para siempre,

Mami

He took his candy bag in hand,
Dark chocolate sweets and cream he sought,
There was no rest for this fiendish band
Lest the roaring was all for nought.

Indecisive for a spell he stood,
The Jabberwock with eyes of green,
Then went running down his neighborhood,
A flash of red and black and jean!

One two! One two! Up the steps to knock on doors
The hungry lips went smack, smack
He hit one house, two houses, three, then four!
No flames, just ”Thanks!” shot over his back.

“And hast thou found a pound of sweets?”
Asked quietly his father that night.
In reply the Jabberwock fingered his treats
A smile alone betraying his delight.

‘Twas chilly and the silver boughs
Did shiver and shake in the breeze:
This day no thought was lost on cows
Instead, he trilled, it’s Hallows Eve!
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!”
Rang through his ears all through his walk,
He grumbled loud and tail he spun,
As he prowled the streets at 5 o’clock.

(based on the Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll)

But sometimes you gotta laugh at some stupid Internet silliness, even if it’s the kind that makes funny fart sounds under armpits.

This video is slightly better than that, but not by much. Gideon and I were laughing for some time while watching it. And the fact that a two-year-old and I shared a laugh over this ridiculousness doesn’t make me feel even a little bit ashamed.

Notice the blurry arms swinging the toy in the air (Giraffe was taking one for the team; it’s like Toy Story 3 around here)? He was super excited because he was allowed to play with contraband toys from his brother’s room while his brother sat and read. Any time spent in Gideon’s presence is heaven enough for this baby, but add some new toys and he’s like “Forty virgins? Phsshaw!”.

Then notice how Gideon is completely oblivious to the camera and completely immersed in his book? If we’re reading about trucks, the rest of the world can go eff itself.

Speaking of reading, this one just ripped apart our latest issue of The New Yorker, which happened to be laying too close to his chubby fingers. Look at this face. He’s rather proud of himself.