the horsey tree

My son calls me babba. Not mommy; not momma.  Babba.  We’re not really sure how this started.  He said momma first, so I knew long ago that he knew how to say it.  But, he just decided that he wanted to call me Babba.  There was a point when we would say momma and he would respond very impishly and decisively, "Babba!"  It was, by all appearances, a very intentional choice on his part.

A while back, when he was really just beginning to talk, the one thing that he would choose to say to strangers (and friends, often) was Babba.  As he would start to warm up to somebody, he would point to me and say "Babba."  It was as if he were saying, "I’m starting to be ok with you now, so the first thing you need to know about me is that this is my Babba."  It was precious. Most people had no idea what he was saying, but would smile and respond to whatever they thought he was trying to communicate.  It was kind of like a little inside joke we had going on for a while.  I knew he was talking about me and I felt truly honored to be my sweet little boy’s Babba.

Part of me thinks that having now two children, I am entitled to the beloved "Mommy." Regardless, Cael is not to be disuaded.  He is fully conscious that I am his Mommy but is convinced that his Mommy’s name is "Babba."  So, he calls me by my name–his name, for me.

The question now is what his little sister will think of all this.  And when Cael will become too embarrassed to use the nickname he has assigned to me.  I will enjoy a more traditional title when it comes, I think.  But, for now, there is something sweet about our little inside joke.

We took our little lion and butterfly around our neighborhood on Wednesday night for All Hallows Eve.  Cael had a fabulous time.  He started off the evening very tentative.  At our first stop, he looked curiously at the bowl of candy, very unsure about what was expected from him….though enticed by those brightly colored little packages. We convinced him that it was ok to take some treats and after a few more houses, he had it down to a science.  He knocked boldly at the door, earned some cuteness points with a "roar!" and then snatched some candy from the bowl.  He did gladly offer an "Ay Too" (His still-babyish "thank you") to all these amazing people who were giving him treats.  His best roar of the night was at a sweet German Shepherd that was waiting inside the glass door while her owner went to get some candy.  I guess Cael felt confident and superior in his king-of-the-jungle suit.

It’s been a long time.  So long, in fact, that I forgot how to find my own blog.  I had to go to a friend’s blog and follow a link to my husband’s blog and then follow his link to mine.  So, if it took me that much effort to get here, I seriously doubt anyone else will stumble upon this post.  But, here I am.  Take two.  I’ve decided that I’ll give my blog another try–mainly for the sake of recounting stories about my sweet children, for my own good and for those far away grandparents, aunts and uncles who miss them.  Yes, them.  Take two.  Since my last, long-ago post, we have welcomed our little girl, Gillian Mae.  She is now three months old.  Big brother Cael recently turned two.  Life is full.

So, I will make no attempt to make up for the many unrecorded months since my last post.  That would make me want to quit blogging when here I am trying to start again.  So, I’ll just tell a simple story of how my two-year old made me laugh today.  

Cael has been sick for about a week.  It’s just a cold, but it’s the first of the season and it’s hitting him pretty hard.  Nap times have been rough.  So, bedtime has gotten earlier.  I left the table tonight while Cael and Josh were finishing dinner, so that I could run the bath water and speed things along for an early bedtime.  When Cael finished his meal, Josh got him down from his highchair without wiping him off (because he was going straight into the bath) and sent him to meet me in the bathroom.  He came running in with his excited still-a-toddler run.  I began to undress him when he picked a leftover crumb off his hand, popped it into his mouth, and happily proclaimed "Eat Supper!" 

It’s been a long night. It is time for Ice Cream and Chocolate and time to revisit the long-neglected blog.  It is time because the benefit of having a long night is coming out of it with a story to tell, or, as the case may be, a story to post on one’s blog.

Tomorrow, I am supposed to take a meal to some friends who just had twins.  Their second set.  In less than two years.  My sister-in-law, who is living with us, is working for this family and so I had planned to have the meal ready in the morning to send in with her.  I went grocery shopping today for the ingredients I didn’t have for the meal I planned to make.  But, as evening came around, I thought about this meal I was going to make and decided that, after several days of dealing with a sick and very needy little boy and running on less-than-usual sleep do to several late-night events recently, I needed to crash early and therefore opt for something easier.  So, I decided to switch my menu and make a quiche.  I have a really good quiche recipe that I got from a friend and it is the easiest good meal I make.  I knew that I had recently bought some refrigerated pie crusts (note that they come in packages of two–this will be important). I just assumed that I had everything else on hand.  This was mistake #1. 

I had already begun the quiche-making process when I realized that I was a bit short on Swiss cheese and did not have a can of evaporated milk. It was late enough in the evening now that there was no way I was going to go back to the more complicated meal I had originally planned.  Besides, I had four eggs cracked and waiting and a pie crust layered with onion and bacon on the kitchen counter.  So, I called my good friend a few doors down and she came through with the evaporated milk.  (She didn’t have the cheese but I decided I could make do with what I had.)  I left my good dog, Rolen to guard the house (and the sleeping babe) while I walked to my neighbor’s to pick up the milk.  We chatted for a bit. I checked out the door a couple times to make sure no one was lurking by the house and trusted my faithful, protective pooch.    Mistake #2?  Well, he didn’t let in any strangers.

But, he did eat my pie crust. And onion. And bacon.  Which he pulled right off the kitchen counter.  He cleaned out the pie pan and was downstairs hiding when I got home.  

So, I cooked some more bacon, and some onions.  I pulled out my second pie crust (Thank you Pillsbury for forcing me to buy two of your refrigerated pie crusts in one package.) and started over. My old faithful easy recipe is usually much easier than it was tonight.

I have one minute until the quiche comes out of the oven.  Then, I should probably take the dog out. 

Sometime in the last week, my baby turned into a little boy….an all-boy little boy.  His vocalizations have reached a new decibel level.  He bangs things together. He scoots around on the floor.  He pulls my hair.  He really wants whatever it is that he really wants. And, in other inexpressible ways, he simply acts like a boy–not so much like a baby.

It is strange going through these new stages with him.  I am not only watching him grow and change but I am realizing that these stages are mine too.  I have been the mother of a newborn.  I am now the mother of an infant.  Soon I will be the mother of a toddler. Etc.

I watch the children of my friends and love to see them running and jumping and using language.  I look forward to baby C living out the carefree, joyful, exploratory days of his childhood, doing all the things a little boy will delight to do. Yet, it is a daunting task to think of guiding his little life as he interacts more and more with the world around him.   It is terribly sobering to think that my life, the one with which he interacts the most right now, is his primary model for what it is like to be a person in this world.  God help my little boy…..  He will.  I am grateful.

When I was growing up, turning ten was a big deal….it was, according to my Father, when I became a "real person."  It was a joke my Dad and I had (that I wasn’t a "real person" until I reached double-digits) and maybe a way that he tried to keep his youngest of five children young…a little girl….not a real person who would grow up and become a woman and a wife and a mother. 

We have entered the realm of finger foods.  Well, we are at least tossing a few things out there on the baby’s tray to see what he will do with them.  And he is definitely doing something….not a whole lot of eating because, you see, it is much harder than we remember to learn how to pick up a small thing like a cheerio and place it in one’s mouth. Baby C is quite adept at manuevering a small item of food all around his tray with his forefinger.  He can use the forefinger of both hands and pin the pea or cheerio between them.  Lifting the item, however, is a challenge. Sometimes, after he has slobbered enough, he can touch the cheerio with a gooey hand and it actually sticks to the finger.  This is a surprising stroke of luck to him: "Look mama, this one’s magnetic!" He usually ends up grabbing the cheerio by pinching it between his thumb and the side of his fist but then the difficulty comes in delivering the food into the mouth.  This pretty much requires the mouth to make room for the entire fist, lest the cheerio be released before entry and dropped down under the tray to be rendered unreachable.  A few make it in and come back out.  A very few end up digested and in their proper resting place inside of baby C.  Many end up on the floor and, after a whistle and a scurry of doggy paws, inside of Rolen.  Rolen is rooting for a slow learning curve.

I have gotten it into my head that the name "Cheerio" should be spoken in a British accent: "Cheery-O!"  Is this something British people say or did I make this up? I said "gee whiz" the other day and laughed at myself…I was remembering that scene from Notting Hill where Hugh Grant’s character is attempting to climb a fence and says "oopsie-daisy" which Julia Robert’s character thinks is hilarious. He denies he says it and then stumbles again and oopsie-daisy’s again. funny scene.
 

Baby C has been in his bed for one hour now….not sleeping, not crying necessarily.  He’s talking (sometimes happy talking and sometimes frustrated talking).  And, he’s doing baby gymnastics.

My little boy is nine months now. He’s not yet crawling.  He rolls just fine when he feels like it.  And he can lean, fall forward, turn over, reach and grab ahold of that favorite toy. But as for full-blown hands-and-knees-crawling, he doesn’t seem to have much interest in that.  He is a great sitter and loves to sit on a blanket and play with all the toys I lay out for him. Now, there are many children in my neighborhood….many of whom are only a few weeks older or younger than my boy.  So there are many little babes for us young moms to compare our own little babes to. More than anything, it is just interesting to see how very differently little ones develop. But, I must admit that when I have gone outside to see a nine and a half-month-old WALKING, I wonder when my nine-month-old  is going to crawl. But baby C remains content as a Sitter (albeit a very accomplished Sitter…And, mind you, I am incredibly proud of my Sitter for his sitting and for all his other varied accomplishments).

The reason that C has not wanted to sleep tonight is that he is currently practicing all sorts of amazing moves in his crib.  I have known that C moves around in his crib quite a bit and, on occasion, I have caught glimpses of his stunts. But tonight, I have become convinced of my child’s gymnastic skills. I peeked in on him a bit ago to find him head down, rear end up, and just one little push away from throwing himself into a full-blown head-stand.  I did witness a sideways near-sommersault and three times tonight in these bedtime exercises, C ended up sitting in his crib seeming stuck and very frustrated.  Three times I layed him down and tried to help him calm down to go to sleep. He finally has settled now.  But not before letting me in on his little secret…..

Your little one can crawl? walk even? Well, my nine-month does gymnastics.  And, to top it off, he has the decency and humility not to flaunt his talents for the whole neighborhood to see.  He is a Sitter in public but a Gymnast behind closed doors.

Ever since baby C went down to two naps a day, leaving us a three-hour awake time in the afternoon, he and I have taken to amusing ourselves out in the real world (ie: out of my apartment). Some days, we just make a point to walk to the park for a ride in the swings or go over to a neighbor’s house for a visit.  Other days, we run errands. Today was an errand day.  We went to Wal-mart.  Places like Wal-mart and the grocery store are the baby equivalent of an amusement park….so many fun, bright, new things to look at—all from the front seat of a moving shiny metal cart. The ride is not nearly so much fun for baby when it stops moving.  Only slight pauses are really acceptable.  This is a problem when the cart’s motion is dependent upon a mommy who has spent years perfecting her skills of indecision and who is capable of standing in one aisle for an indefinite amount of time in order to weigh the pros and cons for two almost identical products.

So, today in Wal-mart, while turning into the shampoo aisle, I spotted Cardinals player Scott Spiezio.  Now, I must admit that the only reason I was able to recognize him was by the hideous dyed-red tuft of hair on his chin (a goatee?). I spent most of the last Cards game we watched criticizing this red fuzz and there it was in Wal-mart….in the hair products aisle, no less. I nonchalantly stopped behind Mr. Spiezio to grab my bottle of Aussie and then continued on my way to pick up some dog food for my dog Rolen.

Every now and then, I notice some ordinary thing that is a part of my everyday life but which I typically tend not to notice. Really notice. Like my car. The other day, I looked out the window at my car and my neighbor’s cars and began to ponder how odd are these large metal boxes on wheels that carry us to and fro while we just sit there….and daydream, and eat, and talk on our cell phones, and hardly give a second thought to our journey.  And, lo and behold, fifteen minutes later we’re clear across town. Bizarre. I feel like a Jetson. ("Jane, his wife…..") I mean, how great can the leap really be between a car and one’s own personal little space jet?  Point is: these moments of wonder are rare, for me. I have, for the most part, grown accustomed to the world and now simply expect things from it.  I typically just hop into this amazing metal box on wheels and expect it to carry me to the grocery store…quickly, safely, comfortably.

Over the past few weeks, baby C has become much more curious about the workings of his world.  He is taking it all in. And, it is all a great big discovery. He is fascinated and seems almost overwhelmed by all the new things he is discovering. He is full to the brim with wonder.  It is beautiful.

Not long ago, he noticed the ear. For C, ears are the most fascinating thing on the human face.  He spent much of a church service recently clawing the side of my face in a desperate attempt to turn my head around in order to examine (ie: pinch, scratch, pull) my right ear.

He has discovered, also, those dark dots on one’s skin that we call moles. They must look quite out of place to the uninitiated: C employs his sharp little finger nails in an attempt to scratch my dark dots off of my skin. Belly buttons, too, are fun to grab. Sadly they don’t twist off, despite valiant efforts. Oh, and the tongue. It’s fun to move it around in one’s mouth to test out all its twists and turns.  It’s also fun, apparently, to stick it out so that you can rub it with your finger and see what it feels like on the outside.

And, let us not forget the ceiling fan.  These modern inventions are, if not the most amazing things in the world, definitely the most amazing things in one’s house. C, lucky child, has his very own ceiling fan in his room. And, the one over the dining room table does its best to distract a hungry baby while momma heats up the baby veggie of the day. Which brings us to the baby food jar…

…And here we veer away from the realm of little baby wonder and into the realm of little baby greed…..The baby food jar holds a very special place in my baby’s little heart, the sight of which causes rapid breathing and spontaneous arm flapping. And, if the sight of the baby food jar is not quickly followed by the taste of the jar’s contents, disgruntled baby whines and moans ensue. Needless to say, C is continuing to enjoy his food.