I think things went pretty well. The boys have been happily playing with all manner of Christmas crap for the past couple days. They're stuffed full of chocolates and other assorted treats. Chris and I have been enjoying our presents as well, and really happy having our time off of work with each other and the boys.
We made sure the boys had a hand in picking out gifts for the family this year. Logan chose a present for Declan, and vice versa. Each boy chose something for me and Chris and Ed and Amy. We did our best to remind them to keep the person they were buying the gift for in mind. I think it worked, though I'm not I want to think too hard about what the boys think of me (more on that later).
I think Logan ended up choosing Declan's favorite present, which is a Batman sword that makes combat sword sounds when it swings through the air. We didn't realize there was a utility belt that came with it, on which a scabbard can be connected to hang the sword. No matter, Declan found the perfect scabbard in his underwear. He was not at all interested in cooperating for a picture of it, so this is the best I got.
Ed helped the boys pick out presents for Chris and I. Word is that he gave them no guidance and let them choose whatever they thought we'd like. So Chris ended up with a basketball from Logan (not bad at all) and from Dex, some super sweet red sunglasses that possibly travelled through time from the 1980s to get here (pretty much like these, except not Ray-Bans). I ended up with a pair of reading glasses (just in case I turn 60 and lose my near-sighted vision soon?) and a beautiful hair bow/pin.
Decorating the tree may have been the most amazing moment of either of the boys' entire lives. Seriously. I love this photo of Logan even though his eyes are closed...or maybe because of that.
Declan, for the better part of the day yesterday, walked around the house with a couple of hangers pulled up over his knees. When I woke up from my nap (thanks, Chris!), he strode up to me, hands on hips and said, "Call me Hooks!" Unfortunately, he refused - REFUSED - to let me take a picture of him all hooky.
Declan thinks it's hilarious to jump out of his room and roar at me in the mornings. He likes to scare me and it's pretty funny to hear his little roar in his scratchy, just-woke-up voice. (Just between you and me, he's never actually scared me. But I'm good at pretending.)
Declan: "What kills dogs?" Logan: "Dinosaurs."
On Saturday, Ed brought the boys over and there was Christmas talk, as usual. The kids know it's coming and of course want it to be tomorrow. Somehow Logan got it in his head that Christmas actually was tomorrow (meaning Sunday morning) and went to bed with that thought on his mind, unbeknownst to us.
Sunday morning, Declan woke up well before Logan, as he is wont to do. After a while, in an attempt to shut their bedroom door quietly after retrieving a book, he didn't know to turn the handle so it could latch gently and ended up sort of banging it closed all the way.
A few seconds later, Logan came bolting out of the bedroom, a look on his face of anticipation and excitement. He stopped short behind Declan and I assumed he was upset that Dex had woken him up and was about to give Dex the old what for. Instead, Logan turned to me, tears forming in his eyes, and said in possibly the saddest voice ever, "Daddy was wrong. Santa didn't come. It's not Christmas."
Heartbreaking, I tell ya. I hugged him tight and assured him that Santa would come when it was the right day.
We have a fireplace in our apartment, complete with ceramic logs and a switch on the wall that turns it on and off. It works like magic, possibly of the black variety, though I'm not entirely sure on that. What I *do* know is that flipping a switch to start a fire is nothing like the uphill-both-ways stuff I had to go through when my family wanted a fire in the fireplace at home growing up. Back in those days, we kept piles of wood stacked on the side of the house no one ventured unless they were getting firewood. Whoever was assigned with the getting of the wood had to truck on back there with our red wagon that had been left out in the rain a few too many times and was rusted and dented with years of use. Retrieving wood during the day was generally no big deal, though it was advised to wear gloves because logs are pokey and sure to be infested with spiders or other assorted creepy-crawlies.
Sometimes we were sent out at night, though. The lights in the backyard only lit up the grass and pool area. That left a whole chunk of yard on the way to the creepy side of the house with no lighting. So you'd go back there with the rusty, creaky wagon and load it full of wood by the light of the moon while trying not to envision spiders crawling up your arms or over your shoes into your pant legs. After the wagon was loaded, it was a race back to the porch because by that time you had had it with the dark and cold and you just wanted to get in front of that damn fire. Also, there was always the potential for mischief-making brothers to be hiding in the dark corners, waiting to jump out and scare the crap out of you just to see how loud you could scream and if they could make you dump the wagon full of wood over on your way back to the house. Pleasant memories, indeed.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the switch which lights the fire in our apartment. So no one has to go adventuring to get wood, and no one has to check and make sure the flue is open before the fire is started. It's simply switching on and off and that's it. Brilliant. However, that also makes it simple for small, mischievous hands to turn fires on and off (probably mostly on).
Chris and I decided early on that we didn't want the kids to know how simple it was and we planned to flip the switch whenever they're not looking or out of the room somehow. Here's where the diabolical comes in. Instead of hoping for a moment when the kids are distracted, we have them come over to us, stand in front of the fireplace, close their eyes, and wish with all their mights for the fire to come on or turn off. This means that they aren't aware of us flipping a switch, nor do they have any idea that a switch can be flipped for fire purposes. Many mornings on the way out of the house, we have them wish the fire off and many chilly nights have included a moment of wishing the fire on. Really, there's something so satisfying in outsmarting the 3-5 year old set.
I haven't posted in for-ev-er because we've been sick, sick, sick around here. All last week, Chris and I were miserable in bed, praying for mercy. The boys came home last weekend and each had their turn throwing up and feeling lethargic. So I blame them. Or Ed. The really tragic part of it is that before they came to our house and felt sick, Ed took them to Cafe Rio where they enjoyed some quesadillas. However, Declan is convinced the quesadilla made him sick, and if you offer to take him to Cafe Rio, he'll tell you he just wants a drink, please. Sad, right? One of the best restaurants in Utah and the boy just wants a drink. I think we'll ease up on mentioning that place for a while and hopefully the memory will fade.
Logan has been trying out a new laugh lately. I don't know why, or where he got it from, or what he's getting out of it, but whatever. He forces all the air out of his lungs and does a breathy, deep-voiced laughing sound. Creepy, honestly.
Both the boys are making huge strides in the reading and writing department. Logan's trying to read a lot, and he loves to write. He made a paper for me that said "I LOV MOMMY" over and over again (awwww). And because Logan does it, Declan is making his own attempts and doing quite well. Dex doesn't try to read as much as he tries to write, but he can actually write words if you spell them out for him. I think because they're so close in age, Declan's going to be standing on Logan's shoulders when it comes to a lot of the stuff they learn. He hears us encouraging and correcting Logan on the reading and writing and wants to get in on the action as well.
Last week, as the doctor was walking out of the room after the boys' checkups, Logan was pretending to be a dog and sitting next to me with his tongue out and paws at his chest while Declan was pretending to be a superhero (that owns a dog) and talking in his grown up man voice to Logan-the-dog with his brows furrowed. The doctor glanced at them, looked at me, and laughed while he said, "You've got your hands full with those two." And I just thought to myself something along the lines of how he ain't seen nothing yet.
Yes, hands are full. But that's not a bad thing. Around our house, it's usually a fun thing because it means also that my kids have personality. Maybe I should have sat them in chairs with arms folded until we were out of the doctor's office, but the reality is that they're young boys brimming with energy (that is, until they have to do something they don't want to and they start walking very slowly with their shoulders hunched over saying they're out of energy) and they were being fairly quiet in their play. Of course there are days when the imaginations get to be too much and too loud and us grown ups get a bit overwhelmed and impatient with it all, as I'm sure Chris, Ed, and Amy can verify. The benefit is that if nothing else, the kids provide some good entertainment. Who needs TV?
Along with the personality comes the imaginations, which I know I've mentioned once or twice before. The boys are pretty boy-like in their love of superheroes, and they're frequently telling me about new guys they've made up. I have a few pages of notes on these characters and have intentions to Do Things With Them. Part of my quest to capture their childhood includes making videos of them talking about their superheroes.
Some of this stuff is mostly for my personal records of the future, so ignore what you must.
The boys had a couple of well-child checks yesterday, and it has been determined that all is well - though that was never really the question. My questions tend to be more about whether all is normal. Like Declan's near obsession with chocolate oranges, or Logan's never-ending singing of the epic movie scores he makes up as we go about our day. The point is, they're healthy, if a little strange.
Declan: 42" tall (89th percentile), 42 lbs. (94th percentile) The nurse asked him if he's a square. He, not knowing what she was talking about, giggled maniacally in response, which is generally what he does when the conversation goes over his head.
In short, they're very tall-sized. (See what I did there?) And thick.
Not that this has to do with anything, but in the car this morning, Dex and Logan got into quite the brotherly arguement which possibly would have led to blows if they weren't buckled in over how to sing the Flash Gordon music. Declan was happily singing the intro part and Logan, with his fierce sense of order and justice, was getting annoyed as hell because Declan was leaving out the cymbal crash after they sing "FLASH!" Seriously, it was intense.
Logan's also been walking around singing Bohemian Rhapsody and Another One Bites the Dust. Evidently, Ed's been playing Queen lately.
So, Ed's dad swore to me possibly on the very day of Logan's birth that if I taught the kids to call him Grandpaul, he'd teach them to call me Ass Face (which isn't as mean-spirited as it sounds, since it stems from a line in Waiting for Guffman that made me laugh for approximately a half hour straight when I first heard it [Sidenote: I just watched that clip for the first time in forever, and it still gets me going. End sidenote.]). However, he never said anything about me teaching other people to call him that, which I now urge all of you to do. Especially since it fits perfectly into that thing I love which is smashing two words together into something new. Grandpa? Paul? COME ON! IT WRITES ITSELF!
Anyway, dear Grandpa was here for a visit this weekend which made my kids piss down both legs (copyright Char's kid) in anticipation. They did lots of fun stuff together like go to Park City and eat ice cream, visit the bird museum zoo ["These ones are live, Courtney"], and possibly some cow-tipping. Grandpa went home likely worn out and exhaustedly patting himself on the back for spacing his two boys 11 years apart instead of the 19 month grace period we ended up with. Having the kids so close together has its definite advantages (built-in best friends, for one), but they certainly can wear you out fast.
Chris and I met the boys, Ed, and Ed's dad for a birthday breakfast that morning. The boys were super excited to wish me a happy birthday, and they gave me a card in which they both signed their own names and made my cold, black heart melt to a puddle. This collection of men sang "Happy Birthday" to me twice, Logan and Declan grinning wide the entire time. After the second rendition before we left, Logan stood close to me and sang it once more softly in my ear and I think he's in the running for Sweetest Kid Ever. (But don't call him sweet, because he thinks that word can only describe girls.)
Logan very excitedly told me today is a special day because we get to vote. He asked me if I voted. He asked Chris if he voted. He asked our next door neighbor if she voted. When he called Grandpa to wish him a happy birthday, he asked him if he voted. Logan proudly told me tonight that when he's 18, he'll get to vote, too. Earlier in the year (and possibly still?), Amy had an Obama sign in her yard. The boys fell in love with that name. Sometimes I'll hear them whisper it to themselves, relishing the way it rolls around in their mouths. "Obamaaaaaahhhh." There have been talks about what the election is and what it's about (in the most basic terms). I explained that Obama and McCain were men who wanted to lead our country, and we looked at pictures of both of them online. We talked about how they had different ideas of how to run things and the people of the country will get to vote and that will determine who wins.
Politically informed, those boys. Hopefully when they're of age, they'll still be informed and excited about participating.
In other unrelated news, filed under When They Don't Know the Words: Logan refers to hail as "rock rain."
We finally got the boys Halloween costumes last night (don't judge me by my procrastinatory ways). Logan will be ninja'ing it up, while Declan is pirating the hell out of everyone. We got home and let them try the costumes on to make sure we had everything they needed and it all fit and blahblahblahfishcakes. The boys are at the perfect ages for holidays. Everything about holidays is special and exciting and filtered through the imagination of youth.
I told them to go look in the mirror in my room, which is full-length, and check themselves out. Squeals of delight followed.
Logan came back to the living room and said, "Mom, I have a new catchprase when I'm dressed up as a ninja. Want to hear it?" Of course I did. With big blue eyes wide, he said emphatically, "I look good." And boy, did he.
Declan followed Logan, attempting to tell me he looked fabulous, only the word came out as "bajabulous" (it rhymes with fabulous, people). At which point Logan said, "No. You're piralous! And I'm ninjalous!"
I was so happy when I heard those boys make up those words. Words are like my favorite thing ever, and making up words is a good time had by all. There's something to be said for creating a brand new word like cromulent or embiggens. But more than that, I love the words that form themselves out of specific situations. Like "milktastical" in reference to the fantasicness of milk. Or "fuckle" when the urge to fart and the urge to chuckle express themselves at the same time.
So, my boys are making up their own words, jamming things together for the amusement and benefit of all. My mom-pride is showing.
Declan needed a tissue today. He told me there was sauce coming out his nose.
Last week when I was outside with the kids, I pointed out how the leaves were changing colors. I showed them a tree with leaves that had turned a deep red color and said I thought those were my favorite. The next day, Logan came home from school with a pocket full of leaves that same color which he picked because he knew they were my favorite.
I found some of those cheap plastic bracelets that are the same kind that were popular when I was a kid. (Think Jellies, but in bracelet form.) I bought a stack of black ones, and Chris calls them my Madonna bracelets. I know they're dorky. They make me happy.
Chris finally gave in to a request I've been making for a long, long time and wore an earring this weekend. That also made me happy. I think I might be stuck in the 80s.
"Declan, why are you so quiet?" "I don't have the talking feeling."
This pretty much sums up how I feel today. And how I felt yesterday. And probably how I'll feel tomorrow.
I have much more to say, but I'm having a hard time expressing myself. Really, I need a hug. And the ability to solve my own problems without having to lean on anyone else. That's what I want my superpower to be.
On Monday, my bags were stolen out of my car. The biggest loss was the camera that I had used moments before to take my daily picture of each boy, a project I've been working on for a short time, but that means much to me. So until we can afford a replacement camera, there will be a lack of pictures 'round these parts. Incidentally, this is a Thing That Makes Me Cry.
The boys are with Ed until tomorrow evening, and I'm missing them as I often do. When they're gone, I forget the stubborn, shrieking parts of the kids. I end up longing for their laughs and hugs and energy. This is sometimes another Thing That Makes Me Cry.
There are specific things in my life, guaranteed pick-me-ups, that I turn to when I feel down. And since I need a little boost tonight I'm listing them here. Enjoy, and link me some of your own goodies. :)
Yesterday we had our first snow of the season. I'm not really one to check the weather forecast under pretty much any circumstance; I like to be surprised. It's sort of the way some people might call me lazy - I prefer to refer to myself as efficient. Anyway, surprised I was.
Poor Ed had some car problems and needed us to pick up the boys from the parking lot where he had pulled over to let his radiator cool off (that is, wait until it stopped spewing smoke and making him run in circles saying, "Firefirefirefire!"). So Chris and I bundled up and picked up the boys who were thrilled at the sight of snowfall. Declan was sure to explain to us that even though it was snowing, it was not Christmas. Just in case we were getting our hopes up, I guess.
When we got home, the kids wanted to play outside so we got them mildly bundled up. This is where the surprise of the snow really comes in to play. I hadn't dug out any of our warm coats or gloves, hats, boots, etc. Logan came from Ed's prepared with a pair of knit gloves [Sidenote: Logan spent some time later in the day standing in the kitchen wearing said blue gloves, sunglasses, his long-sleeved shirt, and underwear...I told him he looked awesome and he responded oh-so-seriously, "I know. That's because I'm a ninja." End sidenote.], but Declan was out of luck in the glove department (pronounced "glub"). So I improvised. The only thing I could find that might be an acceptable substitute was a pair of my socks that had toes. We tried to play up the fact that they were special gloves (not socks), but the boy was not fooled. He very cutely attempted to be happy about them, but it didn't last.
He sort of looks like he's got webbed hands there.
And once they got soaked through and started slipping off his hands, he told me he didn't want to wear the special gloves anymore. Of course, by that time both the boys were pretty wet and cold since they did some sledding down the hill without sleds, so we went inside for hot chocolate. In all, a pretty good first snow. But I'm thinking I better stock up on some non-special gloves for next time.
So I've got it pretty good when it comes my husband sharing the chores around the house. I love that in the mornings, when the house is busy getting ready for the day, I can pick out clothes for the boys and then go dry my hair while Chris supervises them getting dressed. This usually consists of making jokes with them while they get clothed and put the dirties away properly. Though it also involves acting as an obstruction for when they inevitably get distracted and want to go play GI Joe in their bedroom wearing nothing more than their underwear. Chris often has to catch them, physically turn them the other direction, and send them back to whatever forgotten items of clothes are left to be put on.
When we make lunches in the morning, I love that he'll make the sandwiches while I dig out the pretzels, fig newtons, trail mix, or whatever other accessories we have around to pack. This morning he went to town chopping vegetables for the beef stew while I got the other items ready in the crock pot.
The boys love him. He's a great "daddy at Mommy's house"...though it's certainly had its time of adjustments. He does a pretty good job of stepping in with some humor to ease the tension a bit when I reach the end of my patience rope with the kids. And there's nothing better than piling on the couch as a family to watch a movie or play a game and just enjoy some time together.
One of the best things about Chris? When he sings Lots of Bots to the boys at bedtime.
So it's been a week since Logan's birthday and I haven't posted because we've been busybusybusy. I'm trying to get a side project going and doing that after work is taking up some time. Plus, there's the parenting, and that ain't easy.
A few things to note:
Dex told me this morning that he was going to count to 100. He did one through ten fine, then bounced around in the teens for a bit (including numbers like oneteen, twoteen, and twenty-sixteen) before he boldly announced 100, followed by the proud exclamations of, "I did it! I counted to 100!" A for effort, buddy.
Declan used my favorite expression ("Suck a rock!") this morning.
Apparently Grandpa Higgins told them that we can't drive with the windows down on the highway. So there's been some constant asking lately if we're on the highway because the boys are kind of like dogs in that there's really nothing better than flying along with the windows down. I'm sure if they weren't strapped into carseats, they'd be out the windows with tongues hanging out. Also, if you're not on the highway, you're on the "downway"...just an FYI.
Logan told me last night that some kids in his class were calling him Chicken Noodle and it was hurting his feelings. We talked a bit about how to handle it when kids tease him and what he was going to do about it today, and then I told him I thought Chicken Noodle was really cute and would it hurt his feelings if I called him that? He looked at me like he was about to cry and said yes. So, despite how adorable I think it is, I will refrain from the Chicken Noodle nickname. Poop.
My particular brand of wit and charm is not appreciated by Chris in the middle of the night.
I think this is my favorite picture of Logan to date. I love the way he's standing, and the look on his face. He's got a bit of a Mona Lisa smile - just a hint of one there.
Logan is an awesome, special kid. He has a sense of humor that is wonderfully goofy, and he has an ability to be tender and compassionate beyond his age. Sometimes, we'll lay down together and talk about things, and he'll reach up and softly touch my cheek. He makes us laugh with words and songs he thinks up. He's a great big brother. His imagination amazes me and I hope he never loses it. I find myself feeling really lucky to know him.
My most favorite memory of Logan, and possibly the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me: Last year, when Ed and I were separated and I was feeling so miserable about myself and life in general, I was on the floor talking and playing with the boys. All of a sudden, Logan stopped what he was doing and scooted close to me. He took my face in his hands, looked me in the eye and said, "Mommy, you are awesome! And you are beautiful!"
For the second year in a row, Logan has requested "smashed" potatoes and peas for his birthday dinner. I think I'll file that under Not Normal, and also Adorable. I expected a request for pizza, or perhaps McD's (Big Ron's Steakhouse), but nope...potatoes and peas is what we're having.
Last year, I asked him about his birthday request a few days before his birthday, and that night I made green beans with dinner. When he saw his plate, he protested, "I wanted circle peas, not rectangle peas!" (Also filed under Adorable, p.s.)
Even though his birthday's not until tomorrow, we'll be celebrating at our house tonight since he'll be at Ed's tomorrow night. I took him to pick out his cake from the store last week and he chose a spider cake, which I'm not thrilled about since it comes with a ginormous plastic spider on top. But I did tell him to pick what he wanted so I couldn't really say no. Next year, I'll add a "no creepies" clause.
"Five years ago today" (and all that crap)...
We were spending the day in the hospital, having an amnio done (unpleasant watching that long, long needle poke into your belly, btw), and preparing for the impending arrival of LP. I really wanted to have an October baby so I felt ok about being admitted the night of the 30th with the plan of Logan removal the next morning. Little did we know things wouldn't go as anticipated and instead of having a leisurely birth the next morning (ha!), it was to be a middle-of-the-night affair in which Logan was pulled out in the wee hours of the morning, barely an October boy.
The conversation with the nurse before we went to the operating room went a little something like this (I'll sum up for time, and please keep in mind that I was heavily sedated) -
Nurse: So, every time you're having a contraction, the baby's heart rate is dropping. That's not good. We're going to have to do a c-section instead of following through with the induction as planned. Your doctor has been notified. Me: Oooookaaaay, so what time will he be here in the morning? Nurse, giving me a confused look: Um, he's on his way. He'll be here in about 10 minutes. Me, all of a sudden noticing the flurry of hospital staff doing various things to and around me: Oh.
About that time, Ed walked up to me, dressed in the scrubs they'd given him. The shirt was about 2 sizes too small, so he had the uncanny look of a stuffed sausage and was moving fairly stiffly. The nurse took a glance at him and quickly went to get him a more comfortably sized top. We didn't really have time to panic or worry too much, because we were off to the OR shortly after. The c-section itself was fairly uneventful except for the fact that the doctors spent their time talking about golf or cars or Things Doctors Talk About Other Than Doctoring which gave me the distinct sensation that my c-section was not nearly as big a deal to them as it was to me, and when they pulled Logan out of my body, they loudly counted one...two...three as they unwrapped the umbilical cord from around his neck. As it turns out a cord around your neck three times can inhibit your breathing during contractions.
After he was born, Ed went to see Logan get cleaned up and came back to me on the operating table, excitedly telling me that the boy was just perfect with ten fingers and ten toes and red hair (which I was not expecting). Unfortunately I was pretty drugged up, focused mostly on how Ed looked with the surgical mask on his face and how it made a perfect tent over his mouth because of how it unfolded, so my first words after the birth of Logan were to Ed saying, "You look like a duck."
Logan yesterday told me he didn't want to go to school anymore. I asked him why, and he said, "They make me learn things. And I don't think I need to learn anything else."
Last night Logan was adjusting his crotchal region, and I asked if he needed to use the bathroom. His response: "No, these just keep sticking to my legs. Chris is a boy, he knows what that's about." I looked at Chris, who shrugged and said the kid's got a point.
This morning the boys had baths before we left for school and such. Declan got out, and shivered his way down the hall, saying, "I'm so cold. The wind keeps getting me!" While he was getting dressed, he gave me a recap of last night: "I ate my dinner, and then I had PIE! It was bananas and cream. It was AWESOME!"
(This is repost. I put it up about a week ago and had an error in the coding, so I deleted it and have just now gotten around to getting it back up.)
I think one of the greatest compliments a parent can receive is that other people like your kids. I have a lot of mom friends, and our general consensus is - embarassingly enough - that we don't like other people's children. My theory is that the closer you are to the parent, the better their kids look to you. Because when I'm out and about, random kids at grocery stores and in restaurants annoy the crap out of me. And boy, oh boy, have we been that loud, screechy, annoying family at times.
Anyway, over the past weekend, my BFF Maclaine was here for one of her beloved and not-frequent-enough visits. My boys adore her, and they were so excited that she was going to stay at our house. (Incidentally, she has a priceless blackmail-worthy photo from last year's visit of Logan wearing nothing but a mismatched pair of my socks while Dex is on the couch laughing and giving the thumbs up.)
Declan of course struggles with the pronunciation of her name. He calls her "Baquain" or maybe "Baqueen" and I can't quite tell the difference, but I'm sure it's the same thing he calls Lightning McQueen. [Sidenote: Logan had the same pronunciation problem for a while, and not long after she visited us last year, I giggled when I heard him patting his legs and calling Maclaine to come play with him. And then I felt hilariously foolish when I realized he was calling his McQueen boombox (that he was pretending to be a dog) to come play with him. Declan, ever the obedient little brother, played the stagehand for the boombox and trotted it down the hall for Logan. End sidenote.] This year, however, Logan had his pronunciation of Maclaine down pat and was sure to explain the difference between Maclaine and McQueen to Declan, who then kept on keepin' on with the Baquain/Baqueenness of his 3 year old tongue.
ANYWAY, Maclaine came to visit. And we loved it. And we loved her. And when it was all said and done she loves my kids. She listened to them sing along (loudly) to various Barenaked Ladies songs. Declan greeted her the first morning with an excited, "Are you leaving today?!" Declan sat on the other end of the couch she was sleeping on, stole her blanket, and pushed her out of the way with his feet because she was too close to his relaxation station. Logan woke her up (and the rest of the house) with his midnight vomiting travels. She heard them throw little tantrums about who the heck knows what, saw them make the messes they make, heard some whining and laughing and everything in between. And through it all, she still loves them. That makes me feel happy.
Logan has been going through a rough patch lately, with a few changes and struggles happening in his life. We've spent some time talking about things, and a couple of times he's started crying in the middle of telling me what's up. He's said to me, "I don't like this water that's coming from my eyes" as he's wiped his tears away and made a visible effort to stop crying. (Talk about heartbreaking Mom moments.)
I don't think there's anyone in his life who would have made him feel like crying is an inappropriate way to deal with his feelings. I'm sure he'll pick up on plenty of that in time, with the macho man world in which we live. We talk sometimes about how he doesn't need to cry about certain things, like when Dex takes the crayon Logan wants or if Logan drops a Chalupa on the floor. But when it comes to physical pain or hurt feelings, there is no one who would think of telling him to suck it up and not cry. So it's interesting to me to see him try to hold it back, or make such an effort to stop it after it starts. Of course, crying in and of itself is not pleasant. And maybe all it is, rather than any desire on his part to be more masculine, is a desire to not be a goopy mess. But I guess that's the really interesting thing to me – he just doesn't like to do it, and I suspect that before he gets too much older he'll have trained himself to not cry as an emotional response. That thought makes me a little sad. The image of the stoic, incapable-of-crying man is so cold and … lacking something. Not that Logan is necessarily headed in that direction specifically. Perhaps I just don't understand what boys go through in their childhood, adolescence, ascent to manhood? Alright, there's really no "perhaps" about it. Logan is my first observation of baby to toddler to boy (and in time, beyond), and maybe he's just reaching an age where he recognizes crying as crying rather than a way to get what he wants. Declan's certainly not there yet. By the sound of it, he's regularly dropping Chalupas.
I'd ask Chris and Ed about this, but my hunch is that both of them will claim they've never cried a day in their lives. Wieners.
(Alissa, I totally started a draft of this before I saw your exact same post. I'm not copying! I promise!)
Logan dances by moving his shoulders; Declan dances by moving his hips.
Fingers are thingers.
"[Gasp!] We need a grab-nabber!" - Declan, trying to provide a solution to a problem, after perhaps too many episodes of Little Einsteins (called Rocket around here)
Declan wears "slip slops" and a "slimming suit". His favorite Backyardigan is "Plablo". He and Logan are "bludders".
[Chris was serving milkshakes he made as a special treat for the family on Sunday.] Logan: Why are you full of ice cream? Chris, confused: What?! I'm not. Logan: But Mommy said you were full of it!
My kids are singers. Since Declan was teeny tiny, he has sung himself to sleep. He'll sing a song if you ask (and he's not grumpass at the moment). He will make anything into a song, if it suits the moment (I've heard songs about making sandwiches, or getting blankets, or bathtime, etc.). Sometimes Logan joins in with his own musical version of Declan's lyrics, or with the instrumental part while Dex sings the words. Logan has also been known to make up theme songs for his various superhero creations, or sometimes a soundtrack while we're driving around on errands.
Yesterday I overheard Logan tell Declan that it was ok to tell Mommy when you have an accident because she'll just say it's ok and help you take care of it. (Honestly, that made me feel so good to know that he feels he can come to me with his current biggest problem instead of needing to hide it. I've tried to reinforce the idea that he can talk to me about anything and we'll figure it out, and I guess it's working.)
The other night before bed, I checked on the boys. I leaned in over Declan to whisper the things I usually whisper to them in the middle of the night and in his sleep he reached up, grabbed me around my neck with one arm, and pulled me down to lay my head on his pillow with him.
As I was tucking Logan in bed a few nights ago, I told him he made my heart happy and he asked for what? I said that it was just because I love who he is and I'm glad he's my son. He smiled this big smile, closed his eyes, and did a little dance as I walked out of the room. I will never forget the way he looked in that moment and the way I felt, as I was walking away, that I filled his little heart with happiness.
"Use your mouth for eating, not talking. [giggling] Or laughing. [other giggling] Or making your brother laugh."
"Stop looking at each other and eat."
"Get your feet off that chair. The chair is not a toy. Do I have to come sit on that chair between you guys so you won't play with it? [sound of the chair being knocked back and forth] [sound of Chris trying to sit threateningly in the chair] Fine, now eat."
When Logan asked how much more he had to eat to earn some ice cream: "Everything on your plate. No more of this 'how many bites stuff'...you've riled up Chris now, the big dog. You're not playing with Mom anymore! In fact, I'm gonna set this timer right here and you better start eating and finish up before the time runs out or you're not getting any ice cream. [pause] Don't choke."
Declan has a teensy stubborn streak. I use "teensy" loosely; I really mean "astronomical" or perhaps "ginormous". I adore that kid perhaps in spite of, perhaps because of, the fact that he is the incarnation of every mother's I-hope-you-have-a-kid-just-like-you-someday curse that can only come about in the frustrating moments where not one damn thing they've said has gotten through our thick skulls. This is my Dex.
He looks like me, only more boy. His eyelashes make women envious, and his eyes themselves – they're this gorgeous dark hazel mixture of colors. He has a cleft in his chin that makes my heart melt, and a smile that has brightened up some of my darkest days.
Beyond the looks, he harbors quite the personality. He's generally a pleasure to have around. His laugh is contagious, and he has this wide-eyed look on his face that makes it seem like he is just thrilled to be alive and in your presence. Declan is excited about life, and he somehow manages to push this on to me, and I think the rest of our household.
And then there's the flip side. He has what I call a light-switch personality. He will flip on you in a second. Don't get comfortable in his laughter and cuddles because before you know it, he'll turn right around and be the grumpiest grumpass you ever saw. And don't fret when he's in the depths of those grumps because if you find the right button, he'll instantly light up and forget about whatever it was that had him down.
Sometimes I feel like I'm looking at a picture of myself when I see him. I know I've seen photographs of me around his age, with the same defiantly crossed arms and through-the-eyelashes scowl that he gives when he's just not getting his way. He'll push that bottom lip out farther than you think it can go. Amy's started telling him that if he pouts, a bird will poop on his lip. This doesn't give him any reason to pull the lip back in, he'll just cover it up with his hand and continue to pout the Declan pout, communicating his immense displeasure with the moment (see below).
This curmudgeon-like phase has little verbal exchange beyond punctuated "No!" and "I don't want to!" grumblings. However, it is jam-packed with grunts and angry fists that punch at his side or leg to drive home the point that he is not pleased.
I adore him, and I've learned a big lesson when it comes to dealing with him: don't push, don't pull, just tell him where you want him to go and wait. I remember being a kid and feeling the stubborn inside me. I remember sometimes wanting the choice, rather than being told what to choose. There have been many times recently that I've told him something like, "I want you to make good choices, and it would be a good choice to do xyz" and then turned back to whatever it is I was doing. Very quickly, I've found him happily off doing whatever it was that I was attempting to coerce him into only moments before.
He most assuredly wants to make us all happy, he just wants everything to be his idea. And I'm ok with that, because I want him to be happy, too.
Maybe you didn't know this, but superheroes are a big deal around this house. There always seems to be some sort of conversation revolving around them and what they can do. Aside from the usual favorites like Batman, Ironman, Superman, and even Wonder Woman, the boys are constantly making up new guys with really unique powers, not unlike "Mystery Men." Logan has invented such heroes as Robot Field, Grasshopper Man, and Brick Guy (he hits really, really hard!). Sometimes, the inventions are a little more situational. Like, if they're eating popsicles, one of them will be Popsicle Guy who ... eats popsicles.
As mom, I generally get to be the superhero "Master" and that's how they address me. "Master, can we eat this cereal?" "Master, I'm here to save you!" "Master, will you snuggle with me?" They get these super-intense looks, complete with furrowed brows, puffed out chests, and swaggering walks. Superheroism is very serious business, even while snuggling.
Chris makes a pretty good villain. I'm usually the victim, crippled with tickling blows to the thighs. The boys rush in, ferocity in their eyes, determined to save me. The end result is usually a giggling mass of bodies, all trying to escape the somehow everywhere-at-once tickling hands of Chris.
Recently, Ed told Logan that he was named after Wolverine, which is partially true. Logan has grabbed a hold of that teensy tidbit of info and made it a part of him. He is convinced his last name is Wolverine, and he'll have words with anyone who says differently. Beyond that, he remembers his life before Logan as Wolverine. He starts conversations with, "When I was Wolverine...." Last I heard, he lived in Mexico in those days. Somehow he drove to Utah about the time he was to be born and transformed himself into the Logan you know and love today. There were some blips of time when he was a baby when he would disappear, be Wolverine for whatever Wolverine was needed for, and then go back to baby Logan before I knew he was missing. It's all very complicated.
The other day, as I dropped the kids off at school, Logan said to me, "I'm handsome, aren't I?" I looked at him and said, "Absolutely." His walk took on a confident strut, and he mentioned something about how all the kids are going to love how handsome he is.
My heart smiled. One of my greatest desires (probably the same as most parents) is that my boys grow up confident in who they are, no matter who they end up being. I think, I hope, they're on their way.
So Declan's pretty much potty trained now. We're still having some poop accidents, but they're few and far between. He even wakes up in the morning to pee instead of going in his pull up, which is awesome. A lot of mornings I'm woken up by his feet running urgently to the bathroom, and then his race-horse pee stream hitting the water. Just in case I might have managed to sleep through that noise festival, he bursts into my room loudly requesting that I guess-what-he-just-did?! and demanding a vigorous high five. Lucky for me, I just have to offer the hand; he provides the vigor.
With this newfound enjoyment of going potty has come a hilarious bonding between brothers. They both think "wiener" is the funniest word ever and giggle maniacally when they hear it. Last night, I went to see why the boys were talking instead of sleeping; Logan told me he and Declan couldn't go to sleep yet because they were talking about the problem of wetting their beds. And they have discovered that it's quite fun to pee at the same time and make an X with their streams. I'm telling you, boys are gross.
Logan has been adorably supportive of Declan's transition to the potty. Every time Dex goes, Logan tells him excitedly something like good job, gives him a high five, and says he's so proud of Dex.
Declan said this morning, "I'm pretending my peanut is a volcano!"
I should probably teach him the proper pronunciation of penis, but he's still young enough that it's freaking cute and quite amusing when he calls it his peanut.
