sueeeus

Isn’t the heavenly bamboo heavenly I think it’s so pretty, and now that it’s peeking out from a snow drift, even more so.

It snowed a little the other night, and it was just the right amount. The roads were clear and the snow was nicely decorative. Today is another story. The heavens have opened up and dumped their contents on the suburbs. Driving is treacherous. Mr. Gadget took the Boo Boy to daycare, which is only 3 miles away, and it took him 3 hours, with 4-wheel drive AND chains. I opted to work from home today. It’s nice to have the option. Now that MG has made it home, we’re thinking we should have just kept Boo home. And today is supposed to be my first prenatal appointment. I’m not sure if the doctor is even in.

The snow capped tree outside our front door is festive, but the ornaments are hardly visible under their coat of snow. I love the way the night time colors turned out in the picture of the ornaments. By day, they look entirely different. The multicolored lights and a little photo processing made it so gorgeous!

These are the best pictures, though! My little guy loves to wear my shoes! He is so proud of himself when he puts them on and stomps about. He’s learning to put his coat on as well, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it. In this picture, he is just about to jump. He loves to jump! He has such great balance and dexterity. He jumps and shrieks with glee. There’s nothing like the boisterous unbridled joy of a child. It’s contagious. The best!

This is classic. I love it. A little boy with crayons scattered everywhere, intent upon his art. He switches between left and right hands, but seems to prefer his right. He is very serious about his colors, he is.

The other day, in the kitchen, I hugged Mr. Gadget. He probably helped clean up, which isn’t the norm, although he would contest that. It was a nice moment, but the very best part was stepping away from him and seeing my little boy smiling up at us, radiating the most beautiful pure love from every ounce of his giant little being. It was an impression I’d like to etch in my memory forever. It represents love at its finest. Unconditional. Untainted. Unjaded. Unscarred. He’s so young and innocent, and it filled him with joy to see his mommy and daddy embrace in a loving moment.

I need to remember this. To try to see love through the eyes of a child, rather than through the hardened skin of a weary and worn adult. Because, it’s true, I can be critical. I have great expectations that I impose upon myself, and by association, I impose them upon my man. Because we’re a unit; we’re a reflection of each other, in some ways, and I do believe there are some fundamental things that we should agree on. Like-mindedness. How I yearn for that. It sometimes seems that there is very little that we agree on, other than that we love each other and that we love our child with a great big gigantic love. Expression of expectations is not always conducive to a harmonious environment. I need to remember that he’s not me, and I need to embrace that and rejoice in the diversity he brings to our union. I need to appreciate him, simply for being him. And, perhaps, he just might do the same for me. Then, there will be more loving embraces, and there will be more shining happy faces smiling up at me.

It’s so worth it.

I love the look of glee on a child’s face during that thrilling ride down a slide.  Especially when it’s my child.  I’m biased that way.  Just a bit.  Weeeeeeeeeee!   

He looks so grown up!  He is constantly trying to nab our phones.  I recently upgraded my phone (it was free, with an extension to my contract, that is) so this little boy is pleased as can be to have his very own phone.  He was chattering away, and fell asleep midstream.  He has so many faces of cuteness, but I can barely get a non-blurry picture in.  Daylight savings time has thrown him off a bit.  He’s falling asleep a bit earlier.  That’s a good thing, but the waking up a bit earlier I could do without.

My little man is growing up so quickly.  My, how much he has changed.  He’s no longer a snuggly baby, but once in a while he’ll indulge me.  That is, as long as he hasn’t got more important things to do. 

My little man has a new friend.  He gets so excited when he sees the moon.  Driving at night, we play a game.  Where’s the moon   There’s the moon!  He finds it, and he waves.  Where’s the moon   Did you eat it   Is it in your pocket   Where did it go   There it is!  I see it!  Do you see it ! 

Normally he falls asleep when we’re out that late, but not when he sees the moon!  He gazes out the window with rapt attention, looking for his friend.  When he finds it, he chatters jubilantly and waves hello.  Hello moon!  I hear the air move, his little arm is waving with such enthusiasm.  He fights to stay awake, so he can look for his friend the moon.  My heart fills with joy and I can’t help but smile all over.

Note to self.  To avoid astigmatic images de la luna, consider getting a monopod.  And using it.

• A certain somebody is nearly 19 months old, which marks the transition from the infant daycare price to the toddler rate.
• Has his mother filled his baby book with any of the important milestones along the way   Sadly, no.  She is remiss.
• Because his vocabulary is significantly less than the dozen words that ‘typical’ toddlers have mastered by this age, his pediatrician suggests he see a speech therapist.  His mother is not convinced.
• It’s not that she has anything against seeing a speech therapist.  It’s just that she has observed that her child is cautious in nature (at times, and in general).  His hearing and comprehension are excellent.  He babbles with exuberance.  He hesitates when asked to repeat words, but his expression shows that he is thinking about it.
• It doesn’t help that the new insurance plan, under which referrals are no longer necessary, doesn’t appear to have any speech therapists on the approved provider list.

They are here. The girl (TG) and the boy (TB). They arrived last night, and we made the family trip to the airport. Mr. Gadget went in with itinerary in hand, hoping the powers that be would let him go to the gate to greet the kids. It’s a shame, the impact that 9/11 has made on the airport experience. No more crowds of anxious families waiting for their loved ones, breaking out in boisterous hugs and smiles when a familiar and beloved face emerges from the gate. Now it seems like the meet and greet brigade has been diluted into a confused swarm of meeters, greeters, and travelers milling about the luggage claim.

To avoid exhorbitant parking fees and stern reprimands (or even fines, gah!) from the local airport law enforcement, Mr. Gadget went in, and I drove on. Away and anon, to circle the airport until the reunited family emerged. At least, that’s what he suggested. I think not. Not with an extremely unhappy (and commensurately expressive) toddler seated behind me. No. Instead, we drove to a quiet, peaceful grassy place nearby. As luck would have it, a stately old cemetery is near the airport. I think it was a stroke of genius on my part. From a bustling crazy throng of traffic to expansive lush green lawns and ancient shady trees, we were instantly transported. I let my sweet little munchkin out of the confines of his carseat and he romped and played in the grass. We had a grand time. That is, until my allergies kicked in. We were finished playing by then, and back in the car, ready to drive to the front of the baggage claim area to collect the family. Wheezing. Coughing. Choking. Where is the benadryl I had some, luckily, but it took all night and a morning to clear up. Hrumph.

They’ve only been here an evening and a morning, and already…
Already, TG has breakfasted on Cheetos. TB has made a long distance call. Both without asking. My side of the family is admittedly a band of hooligans, and I’ve recently been blessed with visits from nieces and nephews of assorted ages. Hooligans or not, not once did any of them help themselves to anything without asking. They are much more polite than I give them credit for, and perhaps not hooligans at all!

I know I can be controlling. Even so. Am I out of line, feeling a bit annoyed I think I am more surprised than anything. It didn’t occur to me that visitors in my home would not ask. It seems so impolite. Perhaps they are simply independent sorts. Even so. I expressly mentioned that we have cereal (and please, don’t open anything new until what’s already open is used up) and bread for toast. I shouldn’t have had to explain that Cheetos are junk food, and we only have them once in a while as snacks with sandwiches or something, but certainly not for breakfast. I shouldn’t have had to explain that we don’t have a long distance plan on our land line (so if we happen to make a long distance call, it costs a fortune), and that we use the cell phone to call long distance.

Arrggggghh! Do people not teach their children manners I don’t want to be forever known as the evil stepmother, because I expect a certain level of courtesty (and not even very much, at that).

This happened last time. We’d assumed they were old enough to be left unattended while we worked. To my dismay, they snooped and poked and prodded into seemingly every corner of my house. Things were used without asking. Things were consumed without asking. I was a little distraught. It seemed as though they assumed that the home was their dad’s, and what’s his is theirs, and they therefore didn’t need to ask. And they were so pleased at his apparent good fortune.

Ah, the joys of a blended family. I was a well established single, prior to saying I do to the gadget man. The home was mine. The furnishings were mine. A lifetime of investments. He brought with him little more than the fallout of a bad divorce, which was mainly a substantial debt, bad credit, and a whole lot of nothing. I didn’t marry him for his holdings, for goodness sakes! But it has been frustrating, on occasions like this.

So this time, I have the privilege of working from my home office. To keep a semi-watchful eye. Hence the surprise that even in my presence, they don’t think to ask.

I kindly and gently explain these things to them. What a delicate situation, to express expectations with kindness, but with authority and firmness. It is no small effort.

My helper.  We don’t have a child lock on the dishwasher, and he’s very good at pushing the buttons and turning the dials.  He loves to open and close doors.  He has even opened this and crawled onto the door – all it takes is a split second.  I have to be SO vigilant with this little guy.  Note the neatly folded stacks crumpled piles of kitchen towels on the cart behind him.  Another fun thing to do is help fold unfold things.  And put things away.  Sometimes I find toys and household miscellany in wastebins, laundry baskets, cabinets, and drawers.

Having a helper is the best!

I was busy not paying attention, and eventually realized that the silent contented child at my feet was diligently eating the mail.

This is the piece he was working on.

He’s not the only one with snazzy pants around here, you know. 

Now that’s snazzy.  Snazzy, I say!

• A beautiful boy with bright blue eyes.

• The way he looks at his mama, like she’s a crazy lady or something, but gosh, he sure loves her!

• A child at play.

• A whimsical card from a very dear friend.  Look!  It’s a piggy!  A happy piggy!  A bespectacled, happy piggy, carrying a banner.  How cute is that (click for full view).
• An uncluttered desk
• A clean house
• A few moments of my own to escape to blogland
• A hot cup of rich black tea with milk and honey
• The smell of Baby Magic lotion lingering on my hands, left over from rubbing into my beautiful boy’s skin
• The soft fuzzy feel of his head after a shower
• The smell of his soft fuzzy head
• The way he snuggles up against me when he’s feeling tired or affectionate
• How grateful I am that I have been blessed to become a mother
• How relieved I am when nap time arrives