T. – Age 3.5 is becoming a Lego Duplo Junkie. He makes ships and cars and most recently something he calls a “Mickey Train,” complete with Dale the Chipmunk inside.
This is cool and all, but I nearly went down the stairs on a Mickey Lego head and had an unfortunate encounter with Lego Donald that cannot be discussed in polite company. I fully anticipate an awkward at best ER visit in my near future!
Go sit on the potty right now or the Lego Police Officer is going to get flushed!
Oddly enough, this one worked. 🙂
My little boy T. – Age 2 is a super hero. He has the cape and attitude to prove it – but it goes beyond that!
My daughter, S – Age 4.5 and I have been doing a caterpillar-to-butterfly project over the last few weeks. Honestly, I don’t know which of us was more excited…
I could not stop watching these little ones like an expectant mama. I never did anything like this as a child!
The caterpillars arrived in two tiny self-sustaining cups where they remained until they were all cocoons. We transferred ten delicate cocoons into our butterfly aviary.
In about a week? Tiny miracles began to emerge.
Today we finally released them. It was wonderful to see the awe and kindness of a child watching a butterfly cling carefully to her finger!
Is it just that it is too early on a Sunday morning, or are cartoons becoming increasing more odd?
And why does my 2 years old seem so fascinated?
They have no feet and the heads pop off…and a man thing just opened up and popped a pizza directly into his midsection – and if I am not entirely mistaken I think I just heard Betty White’s voice coming out of what I can only suppose is a Grandma?
I need coffee…
I don’t want to mislead: my goal in this world is to help my kids grow, be confident and succeed. I want them to reach for the stars, be amazed at who they can be, and laugh in the face of fear.
But the stars are awfully high up there and it is scary as hell watching them climb knowing they could fall…
and that it is a certainty that sometimes they will.
I won’t say my parents encouraged me to climb; I was half monkey and they could not keep me out of the tops of trees or off of the roof or stop me from endangering myself in a 1000 different ways. At that point in my life I could climb higher than they could reach, and I felt powerful and cunning and brave.
Actually I wish I could channel those feelings sometimes these days. It is different being on the other side of that equation: watching your little ones challenge themselves and problem solve and climb bars over your head and beyond your reach.
But I would not take this away from her for the world.
I will be there to catch. I will be there to comfort. I will be there to cheer and pray and hope and teach what I can where I can.
But the mountain is ultimately theirs and there are places I cannot follow.
Instead I will carry vast amounts of Tums, medical cards and my iPhone to capture it all. I am a terrified but immensely proud mommy and will cover my gray and hide my terror as best I can.
And she did NOT fall today – she OWNED those monkey bars!
My daughter, S. Age 4.5 drew this for me tonight. She told me the big dragon, the daddy was upset that he couldn’t fly, but the others could and that the baby was very happy flying and playing games, and that the daddy should be happy because he is so big and colorful.
I just thought the picture was awesome, and as usual, overwhelmed with pride and amazement that somehow I have been lucky enough to have such a colorful little one in my life making me smile.
TYG.
I am writing on my phone, lying in bed next to an obnoxiously snoring little girl wearing her Christmas outfit from last year. (I have no idea where she found it.)
At my feet on the quilt is a happily snoozing pug – also snoring.
My son is asleep in his crib about 25 feet down the hall. I cannot hear him, but I can only assume similar noises are coming from his baby face.
The sun is shining brightly, I am still in my pajamas. My shining accomplishments today include getting the children to nap at the same time and making a wonderful pot of homemade chicken soup.
Ah. Today goes in the “WIN” column for sure!!
My son, T – Age 18 months, has not decided to speak much as yet. This has caused me much panic and angst: worries about what I’ve not done as a parent, mental-flagellation, and frustration over our inability to ask him what the heck he’s thinking.
On the flip side, it’s also occasionally pretty darn funny.
We have our imperfect methods of getting things across:
The Mischief of Minions 