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!