These boys are the best.

Tucker, age 4

I'm a pretty terrible videographer, but Tuck is beyond cute enough to watch.

 

Come out, come out

The game that Tolliver loves most right now is hide-and-seek, probably because it has so much in common with the universal baby favorite peek-a-boo.  Or maybe because Tucker loves it too.
The thing is, Tollie is not a proficient hider.  At all.  He plays the game like most one year olds, under the If I can’t see you, you can’t see me rule.  There may be nothing cuter, though, than a little bottom waving around in the air, head just partway under the table.  I spend a minute stomping around, pretending that Tollie is very hard to find, wondering aloud if he’s behind the curtain or under the stool or inside the closet, peering beneath cushions and peeking around corners.   By the time I actually "find" him, even if his body parts haven't been sticking out of his hiding place, he’s been giggling more than enough to give himself away.

Impress

Tuck was eating pepperoni for lunch when he showed sincere interest in simple addition.  He spread the food across the counter, little pepperoni and "big pepperoni" (salami), and counted them all together.  Mama, I have firteen pepperonis!  You gave me ten and free, that makes firteen!  
"Yes buddy, I said, ten plus three is thirteen.  Great adding!"
But I think he heard "press" instead of plus.  He was touching each pepperoni as he added, kind of like pressing a button, and that term stuck around much longer than the greasy circles I wiped clean when he was finished eating.

More recently Tuck's been using his fingers to find sums, and scratching marks on paper for bigger numbers.  We make up stories about how many fish he and Poppy catch together or how many grubs he found this week, we add cucumber slices and Angry Birds and finger puppets and Toy Story characters and we add all the Nem&Nems he eats for dessert.
Tonight at bedtime Tucker asked to do some press problems instead of reading books, so we sat at his desk with crayons and paper and added popsicles and alligators and grapes.  As it got close to eight o'clock Tuck said Mama, this is awesome, but maybe I could get in bed now and you could scratch my back for a little moment.

I know there will be lots of little moments when Tuck needs to do quick math, to calculate a tip or to double a recipe or to confirm correct change, and I'm glad he's gaining number knowledge now.  I don't tell about his ability to add so that people will be impressed.  I don't even know if it is impressive.  But I feel, in the most unobjective way, like everything Tuck does, everything my children will ever do, is amazing.

What I do know is that there will never be enough little moments.  There will never be enough times when he wants me by his side, affirming his answers and scratching his back, so I tell about it mostly as a reference, a reminder that one time he did.

Third Degree

We spent the day celebrating Aunt Kate.  She's somewhere in the sea of graduates, above, but unfortunately that's the only shot of her we have.  By the time we met up with her after the ceremony she'd stripped her gown and headed straight to the garden to dig for worms with her favorite nephews.  The boys, by the way, were good little attendees, and we were glad they got to hear Gordon Gee and Barack Obama speak today.

On a Wing

Behind sandy hair and an aw-shucks smile, Tucker's mind must be spinning.  He moves his hands in an open accordion, a gesture that encompasses the enormity of his thoughts.  Or the size of the insect he's describing.  He has LOTS of big thoughts, and even more critter descriptions.  So many that I struggle to really listen, to hear all the things that are so important to him right now.
I let him down a thousand different ways.  Every day.  We frown question marks at each other and I get a glimpse of his teenage years.  He sticks out his tongue, tells me I'm not a good friend.  He works so hard to ignore me that he has to stand right in front of me to do it.  I whirl from computer to cooktop to washing machine to spill and wind up ignoring him. 
He asked me to carry him to bed this evening, from the basement to the second floor.  He frogged his legs around my waist, his head resting in the hollow of my collar bone, one arm draped over my shoulder.  I paid attention, melted into his affection.  Folding my hands behind his back I resolved to let him down less often. 

Dear May

Keep it up.  You're off to a gorgeous start.