Not quite hurricane strength, yet I would say some fairly powerful Eli force winds were blowing in our home this morning. I don't know what gets into him. He ate the same cereal and raisins breakfast that he requests every morning. He has started to say, (which is something more like a raspy, yet absolutely adorable, morning shout,) "o's!" and "rainins!" upon waking, paired with his sign for milk so that he is sure to cover all his breakfast bases.
Many mornings he just walks down the hall and promptly begins pushing trucks and making that noise that boys seem to just inherently have nestled into their brains and vocal chords from birth. From the very miniature matchbox trucks to the very un-miniature tonka truck he will drive them on any and every surface, for hours, if I will let him, only stopping for meals and the occasional glance at Handy Manny.
But not today. Today he awoke with a mission to accomplish: to undo. Laundry in a basket awaiting folding from a procrastinating mama,...became a ground covering of wrinkled fabric, fit, he thought, for a dance floor, or a platform for jumping and spinning. Books, sitting innocently on the bookshelf, waiting patiently to be chosen for quiet, colorful, educational reading time,...are suddenly in a pile on the floor, and not, unfortunately, from a ravenous reading party. Blocks, meant for building and sorting,...well, you get the picture.
And as quickly as I can tidy up, he is darting from his time-out rug, (or naughty spot, as I like to say with my silly english accent voice,...wait, maybe that's why he doesn't take it seriously...) to make the next mess. And the absolute best part is that he puts himself back in time-out after each mini rebellion, because he knows. I don't know any tropical storms that are that smart.
It is nearly 8:30 am and e is still sleeping. And my coffee has brewed, and I have poured myself a mug of it with the exact amounts of cream and sugar that are ideal to my taste buds. And I am sitting on my couch, the news is on, (oh, I hope i'm not jinxing this,) the computer is working, and aside from the giant pile of clean laundry that needs folded, I am actually, literally, squealing with delight. (If you know my son, you know that since the womb he has been getting up at around 5:30 or 6 am.) But I think this is what happens the morning after you take a toddler to a swimming pool for the first time. If woman could give birth to fish, I would say that I had one. ox
In case any of you were wondering the best way to distract a one year-old while you climb a very tall ladder that is propped up on, I don't know, let's say, a few twigs, so that you can pick some beautiful cherries for a pending pie that you will hopefully sell (or secretly equally as hopefully not sell, so you can eat it) at the farmer's market this weekend,...well, you strip him naked and place him in a variable garden of eden, equipped with fresh fruits, soft green grass, a baby pool, and of course, trucks. Essentially, taking the baby back to his earliest ancestral roots, minus the baby pool and trucks. It was amazing. Like a giant organic play pen, of sorts. Now, this is not to say that at some point the baby didn't take notice of the extremely tall and exceptionally dangerous ladder, and try to climb it whilst his wobbly mama calmly and repeatedly begged him, from the ladder's tipity top, to get down.
However, this is precisely why we mama's must travel in packs. (My good friend Becky and I are lucky enough to have had our sons, our first borns, only 2 months apart. And this is a story for another blog day, but I will quickly interject that I was in the delivery room with Becky while I was nearly 8 mos. pregnant. I am still unsure if it more prepared me or completely scared the living daylights out of me. (Okay what on earth are my living daylights?!?! I have no idea where that saying came from...(can you put parenthesis inside parenthesis?)) A family type buddy system. We were two mamas and two one year-olds, which made us an unstoppable cherry picking, baby chasing force. One mama picking, while one chases, and then trade. Hilarious fun.
And this was all thanks to Becky's parents and their beautiful yard and completely lovely cherry tree. However, I will say, that it seems the cherries desire to be elusive, (if a cherry could indeed be desirous) hanging in delicious, picture perfect bunches, just out of our reach in almost every direction. You see, cherries like the sun, as do most growing, unpicked fruits I am told, and the sun apparently likes to shine from high in the sky. Thusly, the reddest, most delightfully plump cherries can be found in the highest recesses of the tree's limbs. Ideal for the cherries, not for the pickers. But somehow, and without breaking a single ladder climbing bone, we triumphed. It was a beautiful day, and we managed to get enough cherries for a few pies and some adorable "tartlets" (what becky called her insanely cute mini tarts), which did indeed sell at the farmer's market just two days later.
And the Laziest, Rudest, Most Complacent (non-)Blogger Award goes to.....
I'll bet you can guess.
My deepest and most regretful apologies to you all. In all the craziness of life, and what with all of my other online obsessions, (i.e. Facebook and emailing and instant messaging far away friends, flittering about looking for recipes and solutions to all my problems, googling "chickenpox" to see if the strange rash all over Eli's bum and feet is what I think it is, but later finding that it is actually probably an equally as scary problem called hand, foot, and mouth disease, photoshopping my face onto the bodies of celebrities to see what my hair would look like, you know the obvious things one does online....) I have let my blogging, well, go extinct. I was on a roll there for a few months, but sadly, my momentum faded drastically, and I wish that I could say it won't happen again. However, I am going to put forth an effort, not just to blog again, but to try and recap all that we have missed. And then move forward from there. Most of you have seen Eli several times since I last wrote, but for those of you who haven't, he is now a giant. Not a baby, but a boy. A tall boy, who says "ummm, no!" and "yup" (a.k.a. yes ) in correct context when asked a question. For example, if I say, "Elias, would you like to have chopped livers for dinner?" He now knows to answer that question quickly and clearly, "ummm, NO!"
And if I ask, "Eli, would you like to have a sip of mommy's delicious cherry slushie, he responds with a very enthusiastic, "yup!", but in a kind of country boy accent that he doesn't use when he says any other words.
Other words in his repertoire are "mom!!!!" (most often yelled in the early morning hours), "dad", "mine!" (we have Grandma Bev to thank for that one), "up", "down", "out", "shoes", "choo, choo", "huhwoe" (a..k.a. hello), "bye, bye", "tank too" (which I'm sure you realize is, thank you), "wee wee" (which shockingly means please, and could also be misconstrued for oui, oui, which would be cute since he is half a frenchman), "duck" (which usually means truck, but often times does actually mean duck), "dog", and "dig" (which is pig). There are several other words in the works, but we are not quite sure exactly what is being said.
He is a boy who just recently turned 18 mos. old. He runs, he stomps, he climbs, he opens things, he dances, he takes huge bites out of apples, and he plays cars and trucks like you wouldn't believe. He loves to play with his trucks so much, and I believe it's actually just the wheels he's after, that he'll do so up until the final seconds before he has to go to bed, lying on the floor, exhausted from a long day of playing, pushing the truck forward and back, forward and back. It is a desperate attempt to keep the day from ending and it is extremely cute.
Since last blog, he has grown teeth. Four up top, three down below and one molar kind of halfway in. He has decided he is passionate about strawberries. He still loves milk, and oh, I hope his pediatrician isn't reading this, he still loves (and I mean l-o-v-e-s) his bottle. He likes spaghetti best of all the foods we have tried, which, may I say, is quite a lot, and you might suppose if you didn't know any better that he was indeed, Italian.
And just now he opened up his book called, "I Love Animals", pointed to the owl and said, "hoo, hoo!" I'm telling you, he's a genius. Okay, I'm mostly kidding there, but we have not covered owls yet. He also seems to have a crazily keen sense of hearing, as he can hear a train that is three miles or more from our house, sometimes before Jeff and I even hear it, and he shouts exasperatingly, "choo, choo!", with such intensity that you think he might lose his breath and pass out.
So speaking of which, the boy has awakened from the blessed naptime. And I have showered, eaten, swept up breadcrumbs (that E somehow pulled down from the kitchen counter, opened even though it was a brand new container, and poured out onto the tiles, then resembling something like sand on the beach,.... well, sand on the beach sprinkled with italian seasoning), made iced coffee, and blogged. I'll leave you with a picture of Elias the Spaghetti Lover sitting in his highchair reveling in the glory of a spaghetti dinner demolished.
Until next time (which will hopefully be in a few days, not a few years),
I am a crazy mama from rural Ohio. I live in a little house with my husband, Jeff, and our baby boy, Elias. We are learning about being parents, and we are finding that these roles in life called 'mom' and 'dad' are wonderful and confusing and absolutely hilarious, on account of our wonderful, confusing, and absolutely hilarious son. We are learning to love and be loved. This blog is the story of how Eli grows and changes (seemingly every single second), and how we grow and change because we love Eli.
"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung, and possibly be broken." C.S. Lewis