For starters, we're all healthy, mostly, although Mike and I have been fighting monster-painful sinus infections. But, those have been lessening since we've been back from Texas (yup, we did it... or really, Luke did, cause now he's married! Yeah! And I got to be a professional photographer-assistant. I know. I'm awesome. The lighting in the pictures? All me. Had nothing to do with the clear blue skies and 70degree weather. All me. And a little the actual photographer). I'm not sure what to think of Texas, but I'm feeling oddly empowered, now that I'm related to a full-blooded Texan. Hmm.
Speaking of which, Thanksgiving was great too. The boys spent a few days with their paternal grandparents, who spoiled them nutty, while Mike and I got some time alone, mostly spent at 30,000 feet, but it was nice. Little weird and disorienting, not having someone hanging on me or tripping me up every time I turned around, but nice. So, now, we're all back home, and Christmas is less than a month away. We got the tree up and the lights on. Life is still good.
Adam is still doing real well in school. Went on a field trip with his class to see Charlotte's Web, as a play. Every morning, when I drop him off, two or three kids always call him out by name. That's nice to see. He lost yet another tooth this morning while eating cheerios. He was pretty excited. He's recently come up with the idea of singing to Ben in the car when mom is loading up everything else, so Ben 'won't be sad.' He's a very sweet, protective older brother.
Cole has decided that he likes preschool again. He seemed to come to that conclusion when I decided it was okay for him to take a lunch with him in his backpack that he got for his birthday. Just like his older brother. Even though Cole doesn't actually stay for lunch. It got me points for 'nice mommy' anyway. Cole is usually the first of his brothers ready in the morning, meaning shoes and socks, coat, gloves and backpack on, waiting patiently by the back door. He's very good at doing his jobs, and if I've forgotten, he's sure to ask what his job is for that day. And he loves to spell his answers. N-O! Y-E-S!
Andrew is...3. And adorable. I should add that. And too much like his mother, but we'll all survive each other, I just have a feeling. Andrew knows exactly what he wants, and exactly how he wants it. which is admirable. although a bit hard to appreciate as he takes 45 minutes to finish a meal, 10 minutes to put on shoes... he loves to look nice and feel nice, and he loves to do it HIMSELF. He's still a great help with the dishes, and has recently gotten into 'I'm Bad' by the McMullens.
Ben is literally running circles around and with his brothers. Anything they're doing, he's in the middle of. No major injuries yet, although there have been some close calls. Mostly big brothers learning that we don't lift babies by any part of their anatomy other than carefully under their armpits. From behind. Better yet, we just don't pick up babies. Ben is taller than he was last month too, as evidenced by him bringing me any and everything he happens to find on the kitchen table. This has included, but not limited to, scissors, full cups of milk, sharpened pencils, old sandwiches and plastic bags. And that was just the first day. He's also figured out how to climb. And empty book shelves, kitchen cupboards and under bathroom sinks. The other day, he was happily eating an old bowl of half-finished oatmeal straight out of the kitchen sink. I had the gall to take it from him. Not a happy moment for Benny.
Ugh. Makes me cringe, the amount of immunity his little body is hopefully building from these experiences.
Life continues on. Occurred to me the other day how my life will not always be this, with my boys hanging on my every word and action (or inaction). It's really flattering that they feel they need me so much, I guess, although it's dead exhausting too. But, I chose this, and I would again. I'm their mommy first. For now at least. A friend in California once put it this way. She was frustrated that, as soon as she seemed to get any time to catch up on housework or something she wanted to do, her son would be there by her side, wanting to 'help' or 'needing' her for something else. One particular instance, she was mopping the floor. Her son insisted on helping again, which she knew meant it wasn't going to get clean, and the small portion that did would be hardly worth the massive time to show him how. Then it occurred to her: 'I'm not mopping a floor. I'm raising a son.' I think about that a lot. It helps.
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