The Squirt:: 7 months

Last night your dad and I went out without you and your brother. We talked about how quickly time is flying by, and that we're getting old. Your dad said that he feels like he's already got one foot in the grave (I promise, he was just being dramatic.) and that you and your brother are growing up so fast it feels like time is just blowing past us like a tumbleweed.

Except, it isn't. Sometimes time feels like it's going to fast, but right now time is moving perfectly for me and today you are 7 months old. I vividly remember the day you were born, as I'm sure I will for the rest of forever but I am also so excited that you are growing up. I've been thinking all day about what to write and I'm not really sure. You are such a special boy and I love you so much.



This past month, it seems that pretty much everyone, including your grandmas, has taken to calling you Chicker, or the Chick, or Chickie. You'll be a grown man and that nick name will probably stick with you for the rest of your life. I'm sorry about that, but sometimes that's just the way things go.

In the last few weeks you've made lots of great progress. You want to crawl, and have figured out the backwards scoot; you can pull yourself up onto almost anything that is standing still and you even think that you can walk when we hold your hands. I'm amazed at how well your motor skills are developing. You're light years ahead of your brother at this age.

You're eating #2 foods, think bottles are stupid except in the middle of the night, and are starting to figure out a sippy cup. Just the other day I gave your hair a trim - the third trim since you were born. Your hair is crazy by the way. It stands up straight on one side and lies flat on the other, just like mine.



When you were a tiny baby that just nestled into my shoulder every night I was convinced that you would be the sweetest most unassuming and calm little guy in the whole world. I think that in that regard, I was way of the mark. You, my little boy, have a wild and determined streak in you. Those hawk eyes of yours, I'm afraid, may be designed for mischief - and stitches and emergency room visits and maybe even bugs...something your brother and I are not looking forward to.

You love to be the center of attention - and scream at the top of your lungs when you aren't. The other night your dad was saying the prayer at dinner and as we all bowed our heads you started to scream. Then, that crazy brother of yours screamed back at you. Then you screamed. Then he screamed. The prayer never really got finished that night because your dad and I were laughing to the point of tears at the comedy unfolding before us.



That's right kid - you love your brother. And he luckily loves you back. The dynamic between the two of you is, well, dynamic. I know that you'll have your rough patches as brothers probably tend to do, but you two will be the best of friends. I can see it as you watch him, and in the way that the Monkey plays with you.

I guess for me, as your mama, the last month has been my favorite not only because of who you are and the amazing personality your developing, but because you're my little chubby wubby. I think I spend hours a day squeezing your legs, kissing your cheeks, and holding your ankle-less feet in my hands. There is no way that a picture can document how wonderfully squeezable you are - trust me, I've been trying. I know that you're going to follow in your brother's foot steps and that soon, this wonderful chubbiness will be gone. I long for it to stay - but it's okay.





I've got plenty of pictures of you in the bathtub to remind me of just how squishy you were.



I love you Chicker! And so does everyone else, probably in the whole wide world.

My other boy friday - Proud of the big iggy

Yesterday was an important day.

The big ninth grade star of the basketball team, my brother, faced off in his first ever non junior jazz tournament game against a six foot eight center. The opponent may have been taller, but definitely not better than my brother with with his sweet pump fake and reverse cross over moves.

I'm always impressed with the moves.

Man - where does he get those from? Why me, of course. (Right Willie?)

After a tough game with traditionally poor oficiating and guards who forgot they were on a team, we lost by 13 - the amount of free throws the guards missed.

My brother though? He played his heart out and was definitely the best athlete and team player on the court.

He didn't get the ball much, but when he did, he made things happen.

And, perhaps most important in my book, that brother of mine went eight for eight from the line.

He shot 100% under pressure. With an obnoxiouus crowd of junior high twerps and grumpy parents screaming at him.

He was cool, calm, and collected on the line.

Total awesome-ness.

We're proud of you Uncle Willie!

growing up

My sweet baby Monkey isn't a baby anymore. He'll be three years old in about six and a half weeks.

THREE YEARS OLD!

I cannot beleive it. Lately, after a busy day of question after question about the weather, the tv, the baby brother, and the diets of dinosaurs I often find myself at a computer after the boy has gone to bed looking at baby pictures and old videos. I'm shocked at how quickly he is growing up.

Though we have our daily battles - I think we're too much alike for our own good - I love this little boy more than anything in the world. He is my boy through and through and I wouldn't change anything for one minute.

I love the funny things he says, the crazy dances, and the brilliant mind. Oh this kid is so smart I tell you! It just makes me grin from ear to ear.

So does the fact that he calls marshmallows, smashmellows; tennis raquets, tennis rackakets; his blankets, his blanklets; and a rhinocerous a rhineroserous.


This is my boy last summer. Can you beleive it?

An Acessory

Last night we went to an event. It was an event where men rule.

Luckily we weren't there very long. I felt like my husband's purse the entire evening.

His very large acessory. The large acessory that bothered to try and look nice, like patent leather, just to carry the diapers and popcorn and be set down when it gets in the way.

You see, in a world where "men rule" the wives are usually trophies - they are there to look nice and speak when spoken to. They are introduced, "This is my wife..." and then vicarously excused. It seems to be assumed that they all stay home with the children and spend thier days in the lap of laundry luxury - that they don't think or talk or have jobs and interests.

It's just one of those things. No changing the system. But it really bugs me.

And just for the record, I don't enjoy being the handbag.

Getting into the spirit - just a little bit

My Christmas cards are addressed and sealed - just waiting for festive stamps.

My shopping is COMPLETELY finished except for three gifts. That's like, 98% done.

My boys and I pulled out our measly supply of holiday decorations on NOVEMBER 30 (i'm okay with measly, we don't have the storage space) and decorated our living room with our Charlie brown tree, nativity, and a few other odds and ends.

The Monkey has a light up snowman in his window. We put it up last night and then walked out into the street in the bitter cold to take a look and giggle with excitement.

I bought my Monkey a 2ft tree (Can't beat $7 at Target) and it's decorating his dresser.

We made a paper Christmas countdown chain - but the kid hasn't quite grasped the concept yet.

We might get a tree this weekend and I can hardly wait to wrap some presents. I'll wrap yours for you, if you want me to.

point is?

I'm trying this year to really be excited and have a little SPIRIT.

Now, if only we could get our dad on board....then it might be a festive holiday for sure.