Too young to remember

Dear Walter and Sally,

We had quite an adventure this weekend! It was the 4th of July, but it was also the 40th anniversary celebration of A Prairie Home Companion, a radio show that has been very special to both Mommy and Daddy since we were little kids.  We knew we wanted to get there, if we could, and share it with the two of you.

On Thursday night, after you went to bed, Daddy and I packed and got ready for the trip.  We were pretty tired and wondering what we'd gotten ourselves into.  Traveling isn't easy--there are lots of things to remember, lots of things to figure out and take care of.  We would not have even attempted this particular trip if it weren't for the help we had from our amazing friends. (Friends make life so good, so good indeed.)

We got up early on Friday--got bagels, got breakfast to eat in the car, got everyone in the van and headed to John and Karen's house to drop off Hank. Hank was elated to spend time with John and Karen, their cats, and his best doggie pal, Sammie. From there we turned around and headed north and west.  We took many stops along the way for potty breaks and nursing.  Sally, you did some good sleeping. Walter, you did not, but you were very sweet and managed to have a good day even without a nap.  We did lots of snacking in the car (cheese curds from a dairy store we stopped at on the way ... yum) but held off on lunch until we arrived in St. Paul.

This is how we roll!

After 5 hours of driving we arrived: hungry and a little worse for wear but also very excited and so glad, so relieved to see our dear friends Uncle Ben, Aunt Arden and Greta again!  Walter, you were especially excited to see Greta, who you'd met when she was a little baby, and who is now walking.  Sally, you were excited to get out of your carseat and immediately got to work playing with Greta's toys.  She shared them very graciously with both of you.  We walked from their house to Macalester College, where the anniversary party was well underway.  After a delicious lunch (pasties and tacos from food trucks) we walked around the booths and settled in to play some more at the children's museum area.

The children's museum had set up a fence around a patch of grass and set out large blue foam blocks of various shapes and sizes.  There were colorful plastic balls, too--Sally, you and Greta played with those. Walter, you befriended two seven-year-old boys and engaged in some really fabulous imaginative building with them.  I was very impressed with you for keeping up with the older boys (and very impressed with the older boys for including you so beautifully.)

Soon it was time for the concert--40 Songs, 40 Years.  It was an outdoor concert; we weren't sure how long it was going to be, and we weren't sure how we were going to make it work.  You kids love music, but we weren't sure you'd be able to sit through a whole concert.  Again, our friends made it possible.  Ben and Arden packed an amazing picnic dinner for us, which we enjoyed while we sat on our picnic blanket as the concert got started. We feasted on chicken, hummus, carrots, pita chips, turkey sausage sticks, cheese sticks and graham crackers. As we ate, I sang along a bit with Garrison and his friends--musicians who had been with the show when it first started, and others who became regular favorites along the way.  We got to hear Robin and Linda Williams, Old Crow Medicine Show, Gillian Welch, Jearlyn and Jevetta Steele and Iris Dement. When Garrison joined Robin and Linda Williams to sing "Calling My Children Home" I held dancing Sally in my arms and cried happy tears.

There were a few times when all four of us were on the blanket together, but most of the time Daddy walked with one of you while the other one snuggled on the blanket with me.  Those one-on-one times with each of you were very special for and precious to me.  Sally, you climbed all over me, snacking happily on graham crackers and hummus and charming the bejeebus out of everyone sitting around us.  I sang to you and you smiled and smiled and smiled.  We nursed; we love nursing outside, with the wind in your hair and the warm sun setting all around us, surrounded by music and people and also entirely in our own world, too.

Walter, you spent most of the show walking with Daddy, mostly to check out the super duper fancy porta-potties. They were airconditioned, with wood floors, running water and artwork on the walls.  You and Daddy were both mystified and super impressed and made several trips. That probably would have been your favorite part of the concert ... if it weren't for the Wailin' Jennys.

Three beautiful young women (about my age ... I still call that young) took the stage and giggled with Garrison for awhile. And then they started to sing. Now, everything up to that point had been wonderful, truly.  But something changed when they sang.  They sang without musical accompaniment, they sang in close, perfect harmony.  The harmony hit the air and vibrated and hung there and then spread across the crowd like electricity.  Walter, you'd been snuggling, almost sleeping in my lap.  When they hit their first note, you stood straight up, electrified. You shot up and stood and leaned toward the stage, "What are they singing, Mama?" you asked.  You felt the difference in the air--you knew this was something special.

Kids, you are too young to remember any of this on your own.  That's part of the reason I try to write things down, so we're sure to share our memories of these times and give you a sense of who you were and what your life was like before you started collecting memories. Sometimes it's tempting to use your age as a reason not to do things, especially things that involve 5 hours of car travel! "They won't even remember it," I think to myself sometimes.  But seeing the two of you at this concert, the way you enjoyed yourselves so completely, the way you danced and sang along (even you, Sally) and basked in the glow of the moment and in our collective family happiness ... there is no reason to wait for this until you are older. Sharing the joy of our lives is something Daddy and I can do (and do, do) with you right now. We get to enjoy it with you in the moment, and add those moments to our own collection of memories. And we will help you remember it, for sure.

Right about the time the two of you started getting antsy and sleepy and needing to head out, Garrison announced an intermission.  Intermission!  The show had already gone on for two hours.  We decided to leave while everyone was happy and the leaving was good.   We walked around the booths one more time and did some very joyful dancing.  Sally, you almost levitated with happiness when you saw Walter dancing. The two of you brought so much joy to everyone around us. With the help of a security guard, we took a family picture and headed back to the house.

We stayed overnight at Uncle Ben's parents' house--you both woke up too early! Sally, you and I did some wonderful snuggling, while Walter and Daddy watched videos until it was time to get up, play and eat some delicious breakfast. One of my hopes for the two of you is that you have friends like Ben and Arden, friends

Sally and Greta: Babies who Brunch

who are so dear they are family. We had a wonderful, relaxing morning together. Walter, you did NOT want to leave. You wanted to stay forever. We all agreed with you, but got back on the road anyway and headed home. We stopped for lunch at a truckstop diner called Norske Kitchen which specializes in popovers. It was very yummy. We picked up Hank, who had been very happy where he was but was also happy to see us again (Walter, you said, "My puppy!! There's my puppy coming back to my house!") We ate some dinner and slept well.

This weekend was particularly adventurous, but every day things happen that make me think, "I should write that down, I want to remember that forever."  Sally, you are learning how to throw a ball, and the look on your face when we play catch together is so intensely beautiful I can barely stand it. Walter, you are in love with two songs right now, "Take Up Your Spade" by Sara Watkins and "Let it Go" from the movie Frozen. There's a line in "Let it Go" that you've rewritten ... the original goes "I'm never going back/the past is in the past," but you sing it, very earnestly, "I'm never going back/the past is in the bear!"  I don't know what it means, but it strikes me as very profound. And very funny.
The past is in the bear, kids.  The past is in the bear.

I love you,
Mama

Marked

One of Walter's favorite books these days is Water Come Down.  He likes very much that it's by a Walter, and Walter Jr. at that (Walter Jr. is a character in another favorite, Walter the Baker.) He likes the illustrations, especially the page with the cows, and the page where some of the trees are dead but others are watered and green. He likes the kind of odd poetry of it, I think.  But most of all, he likes the way I make the sign of the cross on his forehead as we read, recreating the moment of his baptism.  I trace the cross on his forehead with my thumb, and say the words I said when I anointed him with oil: "Walter Paul Edison-Albright, child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever."  Tonight he reciprocated, touching my forehead gently and saying: "Mama Paul Edison-Albright, you have been marked with the God of Christ forever."

Walter and the Wonderful Evening

He even smiled for a selfie!

When an evening with a two-and-a-half year old goes really, really well, it's worth documenting.  We've been having lots of good nights recently, but tonight was especially wonderful.

I got home before the rest of the family and did some kitchen cleaning.  When Sean and the kids got home, I got a big hug from Walter.  Sally slept in her carseat while the three of us made dinner together: chicken tortellini and escarole soup. Walter smelled and touched and explored different shapes, colors and textures while we cooked.  Sally woke up right in time for nursing and dinner.  During dinner we had a very nice video chat with Grandma and Pop Pop.  Walter was lovely during the call and also told Sean, as he has been lately, "This is a very nice dinner, Dada. Thank you!"

Everyone ate well and Sean, Walter and Sally retired to the living room to play while I cleaned up.  Sally, who'd been a little cranky pants since waking up from her carseat nap, brightened up considerably and practiced both taking steps and launching herself at Sean with great glee.  She and Walter cracked each other up and played well, if not together, then at least in the general vicinity of each other with very few conflicts. Walter tries so hard. He gave her a bunch of toys to play with, and was confused when she still wanted the toys he was playing with. "But ... she has toys!" Big sigh. "Well, she's a baby.  She doesn't know."

Walter and the fancy car wash

I hung out with Sally for a bit while Walter and Sean did some impressive tunnel building with blocks.  Then Sean took Sally upstairs for a bath and Walter and I got to build together ... it's been awhile since we've built together and we fell right back into our routine, which is to construct a basic structure and then take turns placing blocks on top and around it as ornamentation.  Walter has a keen eye for symmetry, and the final product tonight was really beautiful.  He declared that it was "the perfect car wash for me" and sent his car through several times to get the "poop bird" off the windows.

When Sally and Daddy came down and discovered Sally was out of clean jammies, I asked him if we should help and he readily agreed.  He came downstairs with me (he walks down instead of going down on his bottom, and uses the railing so nicely) found a Sally jammie and came back upstairs, where he helped keep Sally happy while she got dressed and ready for bed.  She's always looking for him, and is so relieved and happy when he comes into view.

Sally was still pretty wakey, so I brought her into Walter's room for some stories. This morning Walter had read several of his little Sesame Street books to us, and he did it again tonight ... I asked him if we could get a video of it to show Umma and Baba, and he agreed (Hooray! He's finally warming up again to being photographed and video'd!) He read the Grover's Opposites book and was very, very proud. "I did it!"

I took Sally to bed and when I came out I found Sean and Walter in the bathroom: Walter was going poopy on the potty. It wasn't the first time, but every time it happens we are especially enthusiastic and celebratory.  The potty training is gradually but noticeably progressing, and we're quite excited about it. Sean made us some tea (Walter: "I like tea.  Can I have tea, too?") and we went to his room to enjoy it together.  Walter thanked Sean for the tea and gave me a sweet "Cheers!"  He made up a little song while he drank the tea that was kind of a mashup of "We Are Marching in the Light of God," "Down in the River to Pray," and "We are the Children of Tomorrow" from Fraggle Rock. "We are walking, we are walking one two three. We are walking by the river to pray. We are walking by the river, one in heart, one in voice, one in name (one in name!)" Sadly, no video of that ... but it was one of those moments you don't want to ruin by running to get a camera.  We just sat there, grinning at our boy and at each other.

I went upstairs and Sean finished up the bedtime routine--there was some resistance but it sounded like it went well.

It was a wonderful evening.

And all the people say ...

The ninth month of Sally has been eventful so far.   Walter has been maturing by leaps and bounds, too. It makes sense that the time and energy I have to document our lives decreases in proportion to the rising number of events I'd like to document. One of the constants has been very poor sleep, mostly on the part of Sally (and her parents.)  Walter has been sleeping better with the help of Claritin ... there's an allergist visit in our future, for sure.  Sally had a reasonable night's sleep last night with the help of a few days of antibiotic and some Tylenol--she's had an ear infection since April 20.  There's an ENT visit on the calendar for her.  Uff da.  

Next time, there will be video. We were too excited!

In other news, though, last night Sally did some amazing unassisted standing.  The first time it happened I was alone with her in the living room; Sean and Walter were cooking dinner.  It sounded something like this: "OhmyGod she's standing. OhmyGod she's standing. OhmyGod she's standing.  OhmyGod she's standing. Holy cats!" (I would like to submit that this was not taking our Lord's name in vain, but in fact a very fervent prayer.  I'm not sure what cats have to do with it, but there you go.)

The second time we were all playing together in the living room and she just stood there, looking at us, totally cool while we all tried not to freak out.  Walter wanted to go over and give her a congratulatory hug; we convinced him not to.  Hank went over to lick her face and tried to gently knock her over (this is what he did when Walter started walking, too.  Hank does not approve of his babies taking risks.)  We got Hank away from her and she was STILL standing with no sign of going down.  Sean ran into the kitchen and got his phone, which of course did not work as well as one would hope.  After several blurry pictures and one reasonably clear picture, Sally was still standing. Finally, she started to lose her balance a little bit, and as she did she took a full, unassisted step to the side, stood for a few seconds more, and then landed gently on her bottom.  Sally's first step!  I suspect that she took other steps during the day at daycare, too.  They worry about parents feeling bad when kids reach milestones at daycare. So, the report was carefully worded: "Sally was really interested in trying to walk!" Also: "Today, Sally licked EVERYONE!"

This morning, Sally threw herself around with great abandon--she's in the reckless stage of learning a new skill, something I've noticed with her before. She mostly threw herself in the direction of Walter and attempted to remove his bellybutton. Repeatedly.  Walter laughed about it but agreed that she wasn't being very gentle, and appreciated my (largely futile) attempts to dissuade her. A little later Walter lifted his shirt and presented his bellybutton to her.  "Here you go, Baby Sally."  He does this all the time, mostly when he's playing with a toy and she wants it (for the record, that's all toys, always.)  He's a sweet boy and a good brother.  My goal is to teach her to respect him, too.  This morning Walter said, "Can you be gentle, Sally?"  He also said, "I call her Ben sometimes." "Ben?" "Yes, Ben." "Why do you call her Ben?" "Because I love her."

I don't know where that came from, but it makes me happy. (Another recent nickname he's tried out for her recently  is "Buddy Girl.")

While we've always been affectionate and encouraging with Walter, lately we've been taking a page from Mr. Rogers and been extra intentional about telling Walter that we love being with him, that just being himself is a wonderful thing, and that he makes us very happy.  It took awhile, and it might be a phase, but Walter has gotten much more verbally and physically affectionate in the past week or so.  The other night, he and I had this exchange at bedtime: "Walter, you make me so happy." "Jah, I do. Mama, you make me very, very happy." "Thank you, Walter.  I love you." "I love you, Mama!"

That, as you can imagine, makes me very, very happy. 

Walter can still be a challenge, and I'm guessing that when the next growth spurt hits, or the next developmental milestone, or the next ear infection, or whatever it is that seems to turn the switch in his brain on to "defiant," we'll have some very tough days/weeks again.  But we are in a good, good stretch with him, and we're all enjoying it, Walter probably most of all.  He is effusively thankful.  A sample from last night: "Thank you, Dada. This is a very, very nice dinner. Thank you for making dinner with me, Dada." He's also starting to do some neat speaking/thinking/reasoning things, like the "When I was ..." construction I've noticed other kids (particularly older siblings) use. Two recent examples: "When I was a baby, I had to take that medicine." (He was referring to Sally's Amoxicillin. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he might have to have it again someday.) Also, "When I was a dog, I ate bones." Hee.  

Sally and John

John B. visited us last weekend, which was so wonderful for so many reasons.  I think watching the people I love fall in love with my kids, and watching my kids fall in love with them, too,  is one of the greatest things in the world.  Sally and Walter were both smitten with him. Walter even told Sean, "Dada, Uncle John is my favorite."  "Favorite" is a relatively new concept for Walter, and we were all pretty thrilled with this application of it. 

John said something that has really stuck with me.  I asked him what he thought of the kids, and he noted that they are wonderful at playing.  And it's true!  Walter is creative and imaginative when he plays, more and moreso every day, in ways that just blow me away.  Sally is inquisitive and determined and joyful when she plays, with lots of big, charming smiles. The way they play says so much about them as kids, and also about us as parents, I think. And it bodes well.

I needed John's perspective to realize that. I think it was something I needed to hear. 

Sean and I have been a little overwhelmed lately.  We finally got Sally into her room, and after two relatively good nights she came down with a terrible stomach bug (Walter had it earlier in the week, too.)  She ended up staying overnight in the hospital, receiving IV fluids for dehydration and IV antibiotics for her terrible ongoing ear infection (her third course ... she's now on her fourth.)  Sean also got the stomach bug and was sick for about a week.

Sally teepin', 9 months old, with IV and tiny hospital gown

Sally got better and then had a relapse: the solution was to nurse her for 15 seconds every 30 minutes. It was awful, but it worked--she got over the stomach bug with no more trips to the hospital. And that's good, because I didn't want to have to hold her down for blood draws anymore.  I would have done it if it was needed--because of my own medical history, I can be brave that way.  But I did not want to (of course, no one does.)

I've missed a lot of work and fallen terribly behind; Sean's been burning up vacation days, too.  We're not in a great place, financially. We're not getting very much sleep.  The house is a wreck, moreso than usual, and it feels like that's not going to change anytime soon. There is a chipmunk living in our workshop.  So much feels so very, very broken. 

Walter playing dress up. Joy!

Walter's favorite song these days is Matt Maher's "All the People Said Amen."  One of our worship bands introduced it to us at church and he's been hooked ever since.  It has a great beat, a fun "whoah-oh-oh" part, and it's just very enjoyable to sing.  I think Walter likes the message, too.  He likes the part about not being alone: "You are not alone, when you are lonely/If you feel afraid/you're not the only."  Walter gets that, and he sings it with great passion.  I like "We're all broken and we're all in this together/God knows we stumble and fall."  Last night Sally and Walter and I got out the percussion instruments and sang and played a pretty rockin' version together (Sally is brilliant with the tambourine and the kazoo.  Absolutely brilliant.)  And it all came together for me in that moment.  My kids who really know how to play, who put their whole hearts into playing and learning and exploring the world with joy.  My broken, messy, beautiful life. God's promise to be there, to love us, to sustain us no matter what. We are not alone in our brokenness or our fears. "We are all the same/in need of mercy/ to be forgiven and be free. It's all we've got to lean on and thank God it's all we need!"

Amen, amen, amen.    

Where are you going, Baby Sally?

Sally is now well into her 8th month, and she is going places. This, in and of itself, is not particularly new.  She's been a squiggler since before she was born, and I'm sure the phrase she's heard most often in her life (tied, perhaps, with "I love you,") is "Where are you going?"

Sally: Where am I going? I am going to knock over this glass!

These days, Sally is going just about anywhere she wants to, usually with an adult close behind to redirect her away from danger.  She doesn't like to be redirected and gets a very determined look on her face as she resolutely heads back to the same spot.  She gets the same look when she's on the changing table, where she has decided that she does not have to lie still on her back for anything, ever. When she's thinking about doing something she knows she shouldn't be doing, she gets a little smile ... no teeth, just a little smirk. She moves quickly and very precisely.  She has

The Sally Smirk

beautiful form when crawling; it's very fun to watch, in part because she still looks too small to be moving so well. Then she stands up and starts cruising and we're like, "But the laws of physics, Sally!" And then she lets go of all supports and stands there, completely independently, and we're like, "What are you rebelling against, Sally?" And she's like, "Whaddya got?"* and then falls down.

She also climbs stairs.

Being an early adopter for all things mobility has its ups and downs. We are, of course, very proud, and it's amazing to see Sally standing up next to Walter, the two of them playing side-by-side. But she's not old enough to be careful, and she does a lot of learning-by-dramatic-fall.  I've noticed, though, that once

Standing next to Walter on Easter morning.

she's done with the terrifying devil-may-care stage of trying a movement, she gains mastery pretty quickly and does a lot of good, methodical practicing and exercising. Her favorite game is standing next to the coffee table, picking up a toy from the top of the table, dropping it on the ground, and then bending down, picking it up, and standing back up again.

At some point in the transition between seven and eight months Sally started to really play** with toys.  Before that she just played with things by putting them in her mouth and that was it.  Now she tries to put Walter's puzzles together, plays the musical instruments (music class has been a great help with this; she's very confident with all things percussion) and spends time holding and exploring and experimenting with objects. And then she puts them in her mouth.

TEETH!

Sally's mouth is quite a sight these days.  She got two front bottom teeth first, then the two top canines came in all baby vampire-like, and as of this morning both top front teeth are through. Six teeth for an eight-month-old seems like overkill, but she uses them judiciously and is not a biter. She's enjoying all kinds of foods, but prefers finger foods she can feed herself.  She's very enthusiastic about eating but needs to work on her aim.  She's also learning how to use a sippy cup and loves drinking water. With this, too, she makes an impressive amount of mess. A few nights ago she made a fountain of water spurting an impressive distance out of her mouth using her sippy cup and a gap between two teeth.  Either she needs more practice with the mechanics of eating and drinking or she knows exactly what she's doing and is just having a grand old time.  Hank the Dog is very pleased, either way.

She loves Cheerios.  Just this week, her immense love of Cheerios combined with our stinginess thereof compelled her to start using her first sign language. "More!" she signs.  "More, more, more!"  Sean and I have not been as good with using sign with her as we were with Walter, but she seems really primed and ready right now to pick it up. Walter helps tremendously, signing "Do you want more? Or all done" to her at dinner.  I've seen her try out the signs for "water" and "milk" (nursing) but she's definitely got "more" down pat.

Her verbal communication is taking off, too.  Walter was starting to despair, convinced she would only say "Da da da" forever.  Maybe I'm projecting. But then last week she added "Ba ba ba" and "Na na na" and, crucially, "Ma ma ma."  The "m" gives her trouble--you can see she really has to work at it to make that sound. So Sean thinks she says it to mean, "Mama," not just as babbling.  A few nights ago I handed her over to Sean, desperate for a break after much nursing and many attempts to coax her to sleep.  As Sean took her, she cried, and with great effort said, "Mama ma! Mama ma!" and signed "more." Could be a coincidence, but definitely feels like communication.

Late night/early morning is one of Sally's favorite times for communicating.  On good nights she'll wake up 3 or so times in the night, nurse and go right back to sleep. On other nights she'll do that AND have a period of cheerful wakefulness and wanting to play around 2 am.  She's still sleeping right next to me in her pack n' play, though not so much in bed with me anymore, which is good progress.  Her room is almost ready and when we make the big move, we will probably also initiate the method of Mr. Ferber.  I have mixed feelings about this. I'm sure Sally will, too.  But it will give us a chance to get her into a routine--brushing teeth, reading books, songs and prayers.  And, as Dr. L. always points out, being able to get to sleep independently is something we need to teach her and help her do.  This is when we start to move from basic care and feeding and into real parenting, and that transition is exciting and nervous-making, even (especially?) having done it once before.

Sally has really blossomed this month--even the last few days have been particularly momentous.  I'm feeling sad today because she seems to have caught my cold, and I think that means the next few days will slow her down and be hard and sad for her. She navigates illness pretty well, though. She had a stomach bug that manifested at 4 am on Easter morning (exciting times for the Pastor Mommy and her family) and the vomiting took us to Urgent Care where we discovered she also had a raging ear infection.  Her first antibiotics were by shot (Sean and Annie say, "There's a SHOT? One shot and that's IT? Why are we just learning about this now?!") and she cleared the infection with no troubles. So far, so good.

Sally has a beautiful smile and a sweet, funny laugh. Her eyes seem to know everything there is to know about the world, already. She seems very secure in our love; she trusts us and that seems to give her a sense of confidence in everything she does.  Sean noticed right after she was born that she really seems to love our kisses; this continues to be true. She has spirit and strength of character that remind me very much of both of her namesakes. She loves her name, too, you can tell by the way she responds to it, maybe because you can't really say "Sally" without smiling.  I call her, "Tika" or "Took" ... no idea why. Sean calls her "Munchkin."  Walter calls her, "Baby Sally" or "Sally Joan" or "My baby" or "My sister."  When Walter plays, with cars, for instance, he likes to assign each one a title: "This is the Mama one," "This is the Dada," "This is the brother," "This is the baby sister," (and also "This is the Hankee.")  All of us, Hank included, see our family this way.  To complete the thought we started with ... wherever you're going, Baby Sally, wait up!  We're coming with you.


*We have a tendency to speak on behalf of Sally. This morning, Walter called Sean out on it.  Sean said something like, "Baby Sally said, 'I want to play!'" and Walter said, "When? When was she talkin'?" =)
**This weekend Umma taught Sally how to play "beep my nose." So wonderful!! Her first real interactive game, I think. Next up: peek-a-boo.

A letter to my first born on Mother's Day

Dear Walter,

You are asleep now--it's been a busy day. This whole Mother's Day weekend has been busy for you, with lots of walking outside in the (finally!) beautiful weather, making me breakfast in bed (cinnamon rolls, scrapple and tea,) eating and dancing and listening intently to Spanish guitar at the cultural festival, procuring and playing and playing and playing with an ice cream bucketful of Hot Wheels (best garage sale purchase, ever,) blowing bubbles, playing with Umma and Baba, baking cupcakes (chocolate wacky cake,) and making frosting (the best vanilla buttercream I've ever tasted,) eating cupcakes, using the potty and wearing underpants, dancing to some Irish fiddle music on the folk show, learning how to spit when you brush your teeth ... whew.

You and me and Sally this morning

You had a lot of fun this weekend, and I had a lot of fun being with you. You are two-and-half-years-old and very handsome, with wavy blonde hair, big blue eyes and your Daddy's incredibly long eyelashes. You are thoughtful; sometimes pensive. You love to sing and will often just spontaneously break out into song. "Don't tell me that it's morning," you sang to me on Saturday morning, "Just keep the curtains drawn!" "If you keep the good times rolling, I'm your boy, I'm your boy!" "It's alright to cry, crying gets the sad out of you." "And the grand facade, so soon will burn. Without a noise. Without my pride. I reach out from the inside." "Take my hand, take my whole life, too. 'Cause I can't help, falling in love with you ..."

There is so much to love about you, Walter Paul.  I love your singing and your dancing. I love the way you are usually so gentle and sweet with your sister, and how you love to make her smile and laugh, and how you taught her how to sign "more" this weekend. She loves to learn from you! I love the way you talk to yourself when you're playing, imagining conversations between you and your King Friday puppet, or between Red and Mokey fraggle. I love watching you run and skip when you're happy. I love baking with you .... you are so good at measuring out the ingredients! Most of all, though, I just love you because you are you.  You are my Scooter, and my love for you goes way beyond the way you look, or the way you act, or the things you do.

And that's a really good thing, because sometimes the things you do, these days, put you and me at odds. I've struggled a lot with how much to write about this.  Most people don't have any real memories of their lives before age 4 or so, so I wonder how wise it is to record these "terrible twos" moments in detail.  It's not your behavior I'm hoping you'll forget, though; it's mine. I get pretty angry, sometimes. I don't think I'm angry in an unusual way ... I think it's pretty normal for parents to get angry and to show it more than they'd like to.  And someday, if you have kids of your own and I'm still living, I'd like to have some very real conversations with you about what it's like to be mad at your beloved little kids.  I want to tell this future-hypothetical-father version of you, "It's OK, Walter.  It'll be OK.  You're human, and you have feelings, and you're doing the best you can.  Keep trying to do better, and to let your kids know that you love them no matter what."

Here's how I know that you and I are OK and, further more, we are going to be OK:

... the way you lean against me, or easily take my hand, or give me a hug just because.
... the way you greet me at the end of the school/work day with a joyful "Mama!" and a hug.  The way we both look for each other and look forward to that moment.
... the way you study me, looking in my eyes, and then smile. Sometimes we make eye contact across a room and smile at each other, and I realize we communicate a lot without talking, you and me.

We communicate pretty well with talking, too, although sometimes words fail us. We're working on it--both of us are. About a month (or more?) ago you asked me to play Legos with you in your room and I said yes. You headed into your room and I followed, making a very quick stop in the kitchen to grab a can of selzer on my way. When you got to your Lego table and looked back, I wasn't right there. You let out a little scream of frustration. I was just coming through the door, saying, "I'm right here!" and you said, "Mama, sometimes I need you and you are not there."

And I said, "I just stopped to get a selzer!"

But I know what you meant, and I'm proud that you could put it into words like that. That's pretty remarkable communicating, Walter.  And it's true. There are times when you need me and I'm not there.  Sometimes it's because I mostly take care of your sister and your Daddy mostly takes care of you ... that's just how it works for us, especially because I'm still Sally's main source of food. We're trying to change that up as much as we can, your Daddy and I, but we've got into the habit of dividing things up that way, so it can be hard (and hard on you and Sally, too, because you've gotten used to it) to make those changes. Sometimes I'm not there because I'm at work.  Sometimes I'm not there because I'm too slow to react or to realize that you need me and what you need me to do. I'm still learning how to be a mom, and because you are my oldest, you are my main teacher.

I wish I could always be right there, the moment you need me, and do exactly what you need me to do. Every parent falls short of that, though.  I don't know that most kids realize that about their parents at two-and-a-half, but you have always been very advanced.

You and I are going to go through times of trouble in our relationship.  I am almost positive that this current troublesome time will not be the last. I promise you that I will always do my best to be there when you need me, to be gentle with you, to help you if I can. When I fall short and let you down in these ways, I hope you will still know and trust that I love you with all my heart.  And God, who is always there in your times of need, who will never let you down, will help us get through these rough patches, forgive each other, and forgive ourselves.

I love you, Walter.  I am so proud, and glad, and grateful to be,

Your Mama

Twinkle

Since before she was born, Walter has been practicing making his little sister feel better when she's sad.  "When Sally gets here," we told him, "She's going to cry. A lot. Can you help us make her feel better when she's sad." Walter got thoughtful, and started to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."  "That's great!" we told him.  "When Sally is sad, you can sing to her!"

He's done a lot of singing to Sally these almost-eight months. He always tries the Twinkle, first. She keeps crying, though, because that's what babies do.  Especially in the car where she can't see him and is too upset to be comforted by anything or anyone.

But tonight, Sally took a tumble while cruising around the living room. She hit her noggin rather gently; mostly I think she was surprised and getting tired.  She kept crying even when I picked her up and comforted her.  Walter stopped playing trains with Daddy and came over to us. He approached her very gently, and spoke to her quietly to get her attention. Her crying quieted down.  He started singing, "Twinkle, twinkle little star ...."

With tears still in her eyes, Sally started to smile, and then laugh.  It worked!  It finally worked!