Made of Win

These boys are, pretty much.  

We're in Treble

With two capital Ts.

Nine months in, nine months out

Dear Tolliver,
There are so many wonderfully magnificent things that make you perfect right now.  At nine months you're still new enough to know heaven, and you've brought it right into our house.

Tollie, you ball my shirt, your diaper cloth or the corner of a beach towel, whatever blanket-like material you can reach, into a tight fist against your chest, up to your cheek, into your mouth and, like magic, your eyes close.  I love that you've worked out this sleepytime routine for yourself.

You are mobile and vocal and generally very happy.

One of your father's favorite things about you is the way you move with reckless urgency.  You travel at lightning speed, plowing through barricades and climbing over obstacles.

You are an enterprising adventurer, an observant little sleuth, so focused on learning that I sometimes feel like I must be quiet in your presence lest I ruin your concentration.

There are little things you do - shake your head left to right, sniff your nose repeatedly - that make you laugh at yourself, which makes us laugh too.

Your favorite toy is a shoe.  Always, always, you go for the shoe.

You play games and have tricks: How Big and I Take My Little Hands and Where's Tollie, waving and standing and stepping and clapping. 

You sleep through the night.  This is huge, buddy.  This.is.huge.

Anxiety is becoming an issue, separation and stranger.  This isn't really wonderful or magnificent, but it helps me know you're right on track.

You’re like a vine, baby boy, growing exponentially overnight and commandeering every opportunity to cling. 
Keep it up.

All my love,
Mama

Rainbow Bubbles

This project may look strategic but the truth is we pretty much awoke to it.  It proved to be the perfect way to spend time on one of those days when the sun seemed to be anchored to the morning and the clock somehow got stuck on not-naptime-yet.

JEB

Bicoastal Cousins

Families may have been meant since water ran over rocks in the basement of time. 

The incredible convergence of those who have gone and those who remain seems irreducible.  Our time with family is something that refuses to come through in the description; the absurdity of it increases each time I try to parse it for retelling.  Maybe pictures will suffice.

Although it proved mighty hard to capture a decent picture of all of them together, it was such a joy, SUCH a joy, to watch the cousins play together this weekend.  And it ought to go without saying that we missed those who were not with us.

 JEB

Tuck and the Beanstalk

Andy slept most of the day, after working overnight.  The boys and I played in the basement, quiet activities like matching cards and coloring monsters.  We met a new friend for ice cream, and then walked over to the library.  Tollie chewed on books while Tuck gave plastic zoo animals a tour of the dollhouse and chose movies to borrow. At home, while they napped, I threw together marinara, sauteing mushrooms and garlic and onions, chopping fresh tomatoes from the neighbor's garden, baking chicken to spoon it over.  All three boys awoke for dinner.  Tucker declined what I prepared and asked instead for a bowl of peanuts and a cup of yogurt.  While I fed Tollie black beans and bananas, Tuck sat across the table eating, and thinking.
There's a large box in the dining room that has served as all sorts of things this week, including a rocketship, a kennel, a castle, and primarily the number one hiding spot for every game of hide and seek.  Tuck looked at it, finished chewing, and wondered aloud whether we could turn it into a big, big machine that would grow a long, long vine that could reach all the way, all the way to Colby and Celia and then they could climb down.  He explained that we'd need to start with soil and a seed before he described the holes we'd need for water and the pipe we'd need for the vine to curl up and around.
After dinner we headed out front, to read books on the porch and draw with chalk on the cement.  Tucker drew a snake and then searched for food, making a pile of grass and leaves near its head for him to eat when he gets hungry so he don't eat Tollie (who was sitting near by, eating chalk).
Andy and I have not shared the tale of Jack and the Beanstalk with Tucker; it's not been a purposeful omission, it's just that he wants to read May I Bring a Friend? over and over and over, which leaves fewer opportunities to introduce new stories.  Perhaps he's heard about the beanstalk from someone else.  Regardless, while he's feeding squiggly lines on the sidewalk, something's feeding his imagination.

At least something's feeding him, because if it's not a hot dog, he hardly likes what I cook.
JEB

Ovation