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.

A few words

Taking Tollie out attracts attention.  Because he’s cute and because he has bright red hair and because sometimes it sticks up a little.  But more often because he’s loud.  Andy and I are certain that Tuck did not draw stares from strangers the way his little brother does.  It occurs to us, though, that we may not have taken Tuck out in public as often at this age.  When Tuck was one, Celie was sick, and we felt fairly homebound.

At almost a year and a half, Tollie’s coming into his own.  Andy will freely admit that he considers Tollie more keepable than he did up until a few weeks ago, when the idea of a return policy might have been pretty tempting.  Tollie is presumably a very normal toddler, and we're remembering that even when things are normal they can also feel pretty hard.

Tollie's learning how to stay connected to us while he becomes himself, beginning to understand his capabilities, discovering that he is competent, and sometimes even in control.  This independence, combined with an increased ability to communicate, has made life a little easier for all of us. 

A few words can go a long way.  Tollie strung some together at his grandparents' house over the weekend, where I love you RoRo came to mean multiple things, including I'd like another scoop of ice cream in my bowl, please.

Sunday in the Swamp

His attachment grows less to me and more to the world.

And also lots of weeds grow in our grass.

Fun things to do

I mentioned in the previous post that Tuck collected a few grubs from the yard.  He corralled them in a special spot yesterday, surrounded by a rock fence and labeled with the chalk letters G-R-O-B.  He included ivy leaves propped like umbrellas for shade, with graham crackers and nice juicy roots to eat.  And also, a comparably enormous softball nearby, in case they wanted to play.  At one point I found myself sitting cross-legged on the front porch, reading aloud from a library book with a lap full of grubs.  Because they're growing into chafers and they need food and water and naps and fun things to do.

It rained today, so we spent the morning inside at COSI.  Tucker picked circuits from the menu at the Gadget Cafe and he became borderline obsessed with an ancient recording device in the Progress exhibit appliance store.
He can spend an hour with a bucket of paper clips and a big bar magnet, or an afternoon making sounds with metal and glass and plastic and wood.
Tuck reminded us, more than once this afternoon, that worms come out when it's wet, so I'm trying to gear up for rain boots and shovels and earthworm storytime tomorrow.


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Outside

This weekend saw what was, hopefully, the last act of winter.  And there are plenty of things I could say about spring, about the way Tuck describes the pear blossoms with "it looks like there's popcorn up in those trees" and how he became best friends forever with the colony of grubs he curated, except for the one "with grumpy eyes, know why his eyes are grumpy? Because he's hungry so I gave him some moss to chew on."  Or the way Tols, after having his own cheeks slathered, carefully coated rocks and leaves with sunscreen and how he, after watching us work to spread mulch, found all manner of places we'd missed -- inside tulip blossoms and inside the hose nozzle and inside the tire pump.  Like nature in springtime, there's no doubt these boys are in the business of being alive.
And there are plenty of things to say about that, but right now, the thing about spring I keep coming back to is this: Parenting feels so much easier outside.