Semi-Annual.

At my sweet sister-in-law's insistence (hi, Lori!), I'm dusting off this blog to document life with these "and a half" year old boys.

I don't really know how I managed to write as often as I did when it was just Ben I was chasing around all day, and now it seems nearly impossible.  Couple that with the fact that things don't really seem to change much day-to-day, and this blog has been a bit neglected.  But, as I turn this "draft" into an official post, I see that things really are changing and we really are growing (not just the boys- all of us!) and there is lots going on that is worth remembering.

George is one and-a-half.  He is using his sweet little voice more and more ("Gu-guks!" - trucks) and finally put two words together "Bye, cars!"  He says "night night" to daddy and Ben before I take him in to rock, and he asks about all his people, listing them one at a time. Then he requests specific bedtime songs- usually "The Wheels on the Bus" or "Cee=bee-cee-bees" (ABCs).  He belly laughs when we blow out "This Little Light of Mine." 

Much like his big brother, he specializes in sound effects and delights in pointing his fist and "lasering" (very calmly and quietly) anyone who crosses him, a la Buzz Lightyear. ("Ksht! Ksht!")

George is passion.  High highs... low (low) lows. "Fop! Fop! Fooop!" (Stop) is usually only the beginning, followed by throwing whatever he is holding (a fork, a pacifier, a toy- doesn't matter), followed by throwing himself on the floor and his head back.  Whew!  This is uncharted parenting territory for us, so I keep reminding myself that this passion is a gift, and praying that we will help George harness and channel it in the right directions.  Did I say, "Whew?" Whew.

The flip-side of those low lows are the sweet, impassioned highs!  George is so good in his classes at Sunday School and BSF.  He randomly distributes soft kisses- on my leg, a stuffed animal, and sometimes the little girls in his classes.  We giggle about the way he swings his left arm (only the left one) when he walks.  He is generous with his hugs and he usually puts his head on my shoulder and pats my back or rubs my arm and I am putty in his hands.

His curls.  I just... I'll just move on.

After 18 months of nursing- at home, at parks, in cars, at church, at family gatherings, all day, all night... George is weaned!  Weaning is always bittersweet, but I feel like we had a really good run. Breastfeeding is pretty invaluable, so I decided to ride it out as long as George was interested.  He was nursing pretty sporadically and primarily for comfort, so I knew we were about done... And then I left and went to Mexico for a week.  Ha!  But really, it happened very gradually and naturally and wasn't traumatic for either of us.  I'm really thankful we did it as long as we did.

Ben.  Ben is such a delightful, precocious three and-a-half year old. He is obedient and sweet, but also quite sharp and he loves to negotiate over meals, movies, and bedtime.

Ben loves riding his scooter or his bike over to Gramma and Grampa's house.

We are working through normal, three-year-old fears, like "who will protect me?" (every night) and "will you come back?" (every time we drop him off at church).

Our first day back to Bible Study Fellowship this fall!

Ben's favorite movies are "The Fox and the Hound," "Robin Hood," "Tarzan," and "Tigger."  He wakes up fairly early every morning, and I let him watch part of a movie to keep him quiet while I finish my Bible study and George sleeps a bit longer.  Then I try to limit tv time the rest of the day.  Ehem.

We bought a piano.  They like it.

Bedtime with Ben is a production.  There is singing and snuggles and prayers and stories and kisses and lots of assurances that all is well.  Once Tim is finished with his portion of the routine, I go in and Ben asks me to scratch his back and sing "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing."  It tickles me that he always requests it, but I think he is mostly intrigued by line about "rescued me from danger" and "precious blood," as he always asks me to "sing that part again."

Ben and George are still mastering the art of playing together nicely.  I spend a lot of time refereeing, but when they do play well, my heart is so happy to see the camaraderie between them.  One of their favorite things to do is "hide" together behind the rocking chair in the corner of George's nursery.  Ben will say, "Come on, Georgie!" and they whisper and giggle.

Our mornings are generally full and pleasant- seeing friends, going to the library, grocery store, Bible study, etc.  After lunch and naps, the afternoons... oh, the afternoons... I can't explain it.  Every evening I marvel at the fact that we all survived 3-5pm.  My mom usually stops in to say hello on her way home from work, and that is a huge help, especially when I'm prepping dinner and trying to clear a path through the toys on the living room floor before Tim gets home.

Real life.

Tim has a rough commute to and from work, but we wait for him in the driveway whenever the weather allows, and they love to see Daddy drive down the street.

At the end of the day, we are all tired.  I'm a kind of tired I've never felt before, and it may just be this "season..." or it may just be turning (gasp!) 30, or it may just be motherhood! Try as we might to limit our activities/busyness and be intentional about how we spend our time and energy, each week there are eight unavoidable loads of laundry and 21 meals and 14 snacks and lots of dishes and wiping and folding and life happening in-between.

The challenge is to see these things through eyes of gratitude, and some days I'm better at that than others.
Rather than focus on the sand in our bathtub, we pause and thank God for the two sweet reasons it's there.

Three and One.

Benjamin, I blinked and you turned three.  Not just any "three," but they cutest, most delightful three-year-old chatter box I've ever seen.

You talk and talk and talk and talk.  You sing.  "Life is a Highway." Over and over and over. You ask questions. You repeat them, I answer them.  And again, even after I've answered eightyseventimes already, you ask again.  More chatter.  Gramma and Grampa insist this is "payback," whatever that means...

Sometimes, when all the chatter is layered on top of the television and the toys and the baby, I get snappy.  I always feel terrible because you really haven't done anything wrong and truly your little voice is one of my favorite sounds ever. Even when I snap, you remain un-phased.  You want answers.

All boy, and we wouldn't have it any other way!

Of all the options available at the Target Dollar-Spot, you chose this butterfly net as your potty training surprise.

Daddy and I are most thankful for your sweet little spirit. You love life. You greet me each morning with, "Good morning, Mommy!  I sure do love you!"  At the park a few days ago, you saw some big boys hanging upside-down from a play structure.  You nicely said, "I'd like to do that, but I'm still learning." In the middle of our picnic today, with absolutely no prompting, you closed your eyes tight, clasped your hands together, and said, "Dear God, thank you for this beautiful lunch outside." Your delightful little personality spills over wherever we are.

Thanks to "Tow Mater," your current obsession is tow trucks.  Really, you love anything with a line or a "whoo-k" attached to it.

You are so affectionate.  I'd guess about a dozen times every day you walk up and ask, "Mommy, will you hold me?"  Sometimes you request "the very biggest kiss," because, as you told me just yesterday, "kissing is fun."  

You call your brother "Joe-g David," which Daddy and I adore.  Whether you're talking to him, ("Don't worry', Joe-g David!") or just referencing him in conversation, he is always Joe-g David.  What are the odds that you'll address him like this forever?

"Joe-G David" loves his big brother, too.

While I nurse and rock George, Daddy lays down to tell you stories before bed. Sometimes you have requests, other times you're open to something new.  You two sing "The Marine Corps Hymn" and "What a Wonderful World." When I come in, you ask me to sing you songs about your toys, which I make up on the spot The melody is all over the place and none of the words rhyme. You smile with delight as you listen, then ask for more.  This nightly ritual takes anywhere from 15-30 minutes, and even though I want nothing more than to collapse on the couch by that time of night, those moments snuggled next to you, just talking to you softly, are some of my favorite ones.

Every night, just after midnight, I wake to the sound of your toys and your cup crashing to the floor right outside our bedroom door.  You obviously need both hands free to open it. You jiggle the knob a few times, then the door swings open violently while you bend down to retrieve your things and come rushing in.  Originally, I would just lift you up and let you sleep in-between us, but you inevitably ended up perpendicular to daddy and me, alternately kicking both of us in the kidneys. Now we leave a blanket and pillow on the floor next to daddy's side of the bed and you just go straight to it and sleep until morning.

George, on the other hand, is another thing.  There is no sleeping through the night happening there.  George is up at least once (sometimes twice) for a snack and some cuddles, then happily drifts back to sleep.  I've gone all "attachment parenting" this go-round and even though I'm tired, I'm embracing the stage for what it is. After snacking at 11is and 4ish, George wakes up in the morning asking for Ben.  "Buh!  Buuuuuuhhhhh!"

George is soft.  I don't really know the words to describe how luscious and smooth his cheeks, his neck, his tummy, his knees... I kiss him until he giggles so hard that he can't even breathe.  And those eyelashes...

Deliciousness.

His skin is soft, his personality less so.  For a good eight or nine months we were pretty convinced George was totally laid back.  We have since discovered that he was simply lying in wait, sizing up his opponents.  When we were least expecting it, he sprung it on us.  That kid knows what he wants.

There's not a lot of talking, but there's certainly a lot of grunting.

I love the way George instantly bobs his head when he hears music, regardless of what type or rhythm.  When he waves goodbye, he flicks his wrist in a hilarious, slow-motion.  He "wa wa wa"s (woof woof's) at any animal he sees.  He is happiest in someone's arms and loves for us to carry him around and show him pictures, light switches, and things on the counters. 

Grampa and George picking blackberries together.

Our days together are lovely and precious and challenging in ways I couldn't have imagined.  A three-year-old and a one-year old.  Parks, picnics, laundry, hugs, whining, dishes, groceries, boogers, kisses, toys.  Repeat.  Some days I overflow with the sweetness of our little life, and some days feel so insignificant and lonely (even without any personal space, ironically), but I know I'm where I'm supposed to be- with you- and I'm trying to appreciate the hard stuff, too.

  "This is obedience for me. This is bravery. We love big stories, ones that involve passports and mountains and photo-ops. But sometimes being courageous means less, quieter, stiller, smaller."

Well, it's rarely quiet, but... you get the idea.

I love you both so much, and I love being your mommy!

Rainbow Baby.

George David is ten months old today, but I won't soon forget his nine-month checkup.  After the receptionist thrust the developmental questionnaire into my hands, I filled it out to the best of my ability while George chewed on the pen I was writing with and Ben arranged the chairs in the waiting area.

The optional answers are "always," "sometimes," or "never."  Simple enough, you'd think?  Well, I left about half of the questions blank because I genuinely wasn't sure how to answer.

George wasn't interested in solid food at that point, so I actually wasn't sure if he was able to pick up a cheerio with two fingers and bring it to his mouth.  I also hadn't really noticed if, when pulling up on the couch, he stood with his arms extended or leaned in to rest his body weight on his chest. I'd been too busy appreciating the rolls of fat on his kneecaps.  I had never directed him to play "peek-a-boo" without participating in the game myself, so I wasn't sure that he could play without me showing him how, either.

This kid doesn't mess around.

This is our second baby, so I've replaced worrying about developmental milestones with simply enjoying the baby. Which, as it turns out, makes it difficult to complete a questionnaire regarding developmental milestones. Ooops.  Long story short, George was flagged as "high concern" in the doctor's system until the nurse kindly asked me to go back and answer every question before resubmitting the form.  I did a little bit of guessing, and now George is "normal." (In the system, at least.)

Honestly, George is a little behind where Ben was at this age, but I'm not too concerned.  The delay is most likely because I don't set George down very often.  Ben didn't have a big brother to lovingly administer head-locks and full-nelsons, so he spent a lot more time playing on the floor than George does.

George never sees the head-lock coming.

Since his nine-month check-up, George has begun eating cheerios.  And carrots and apples and eggs and other yummy treats that have helped him sleep a little better at night.  A little better. He still requests at least one snack a night, which I'm really, really trying to have a good attitude about. He'll be sleeping through the night before I know it, right?  Plus, he does this impossibly sweet thing where he lays there and twirls both of his little feet in circles while he eats, and I can hardly survive the cuteness, even at 4am.

Even our delightfully laid-back buddy isn't exempt from separation anxiety.  It is tough for me to leave him in the nursery at church (or even with daddy) when I know his sadness creates a challenge for other caregivers. Thankfully, I don't have to be away from the little guy too often.

"This ain't my first rodeo."  But actually, it was. Fort Worth Stock Show 2014. 

George has six teeth, hidden ankles, and curly hair. The hair has grown so slowly, but I could have cried the day I realized the long stuff in the back was starting to curl.  What a fun, unexpected surprise.

While reading online a few weeks ago, I learned that a baby born after a miscarriage or stillbirth is called a "rainbow baby."  How fitting this is for our little George- a burst of light and color and hope, a reminder of God's faithfulness, after a dark, difficult storm.

Crumbs.

The last few weeks have been some of those weeks.  Full of fussing and whining and crying.  Ear infections and fevers.  Wet diapers, dirty diapers, leaky diapers.  Sticky fingers, sticky table, sticky chairs.  Crumbs all over the floor. Nursing and teething and lanolin. Chatter, chatter, chatter.  Questions, questions, chatter.  Crumbs.  More whining.

Tim encourages me to get out of the house by myself in the evenings, just to take some time and breathe. Maybe walk through Target.  I would if I had the energy.

Some days seem so long. I'm convinced the clock slows down between 3pm and 6pm.  The fussing gets louder, and my fuse gets shorter.  Bedtime?  Where art thou, bedtime?

But then, in the middle of all of that are these moments.  Sparkly, shiny moments when I notice the fat rolls on the baby's knees, or when he laughs, tilts his head back, and I glimpse those two tiny teeth popping through that top gum.  I find an airplane shoved under my pillow. I watch the boys giggle at each other.

I bend down to give Ben a kiss, and he wraps his arm around me, grabs the back of my head with his peanut butter and jelly-covered hand, and argues that he loves me more. And I snap a picture as fast as I can.

Even one of those dreaded, awful "selfies," because snapping a picture is the closest I can get to freezing these moments forever, which I think I would, if I could.  Crumbs and snot and diapers and all.