puff, puff, choo, choo...off we go!

Sean's always--even as a baby--been the type of kid who wouldn't meet any kind of developmental milestone until he knew he could do it quite well. We have ridiculous amounts of video footage of him almost rolling over--he'd roll up onto one side, and then go back to lying on his back. Over and over and over again. So the first time he actually finally did roll, he rolled and rolled and rolled clear across the room. The same type of thing happened with eating and walking and talking. And we can't even think about persuading or coercing him into partially achieving anything--he'll do it on his own when he's good and ready, and not a moment before. Can we say "independent perfectionist"? I wonder where he gets it from?

So, given all that, I knew potty training the child would be quite the experience. We started talking to him several months ago about all the ins and outs of what going on the potty "like a big boy" entailed, since we knew we'd need a big jump start before we actually started training, but anytime we'd bring it up he'd firmly say that he wanted to wear diapers. And I have to admit, I was somewhat afraid that I might have seriously delayed any hope of readiness by unintentionally terrifying the poor kid before we'd even had a chance to start. One night somewhere in the middle of all of this gearing-up-for-the-big-event talk, I was helping him get undressed for a bath, and in my tired, absent-minded, mommy-brain state, I went to put him in the tub, but out of my mouth came, "Okay, Sean, time to go in the potty." Not "on the potty" (which at least would have been a reasonable statement) or "in the tub" (which is what I meant). No, I had to say "in the potty." Oh, the terror that leapt into his eyes. And the kicking of the legs and the thrashing of the arms and the crying and wailing of "NO, MOMMY, NO! I DON'T WANNA GO IN THE POTTY! NO, MOMMY, NO!" I had him halfway into the bathtub before I realized exactly what I'd said and, therefore, what his problem was, at which point instead of apologizing like any decent parent would have done, I started laughing--uncontrollably laughing--at the idea that I had actually uttered those words, but especially at the idea that Sean knew in his heart of hearts that what I had said was exactly what I was doing. Cruel, I know, but you have to admit that it is mildly funny.

Anyhow, despite the potential setback from that little episode, we decided about three months ago to take the plunge (no pun intended)--bought all the necessary "equipment," had a final little chat, and went with it. That lasted all of, oh, maybe a day. He quickly informed me that he was a big boy, but he wanted to go potty in his diapers.

We tried again about a month later with pretty much the same result. He knew he was a big boy and didn't need "big boy underwear" to confirm that fact (I definitely can't complain about his self-esteem). So, instead of trying to constantly realign a derailing potty train, we just parked it at the station for a while until the little conductor got all of his issues worked out. I kept talking to him about using the potty every now and then, with still no interest on his part, and hoping that one day soon he would come around.

And just last week he finally did. I had bought a new potty chair for him early last week (because the first one we got was ridiculously small--who do they think could go in a hole the size of an orange? C'mon.), and told him to tell me when he was ready to start using it (thinking the whole time that maybe it would still be big enough for him as a teenager). Three days later, as I was changing his diaper, he told me he wanted to wear his big boy underwear. I knew I must have heard him incorrectly, or he had forgotten what all went along with wearing that, so I quickly and thoroughly went through everything that he would have to do if he did, in fact, wear his underwear. And lo and behold, he was okay with it.

We're now on day 6 and he's doing quite well. Still having accidents every now and then, still will only pee in the toilet, but we're getting there. And he's finally on board. Now I just have to prepare myself for another derailment when the baby comes. But I think he at least knows by now that mommy will only put him on the potty and not in it.

coming into his own

Sean recently has been unveiling more and more of his little personality, and it's hilarious. Yesterday, as I was changing his diaper, he made up this song:

"I love to sit in my STINKYYYY DIAPERRR! I love to sit in my STINKYYYY DIAPERRR! I love to sit in my stinky DIAPERRRRRRRRRR!"

Hmmm...and I wonder why pottytraining wasn't going so well?

And a few nights ago when we stopped for gas on the way home from church, he and I had this conversation:

S: Hey, look, there's Daddy!
M: I know, Daddy's going to pump Mommy's gas.
S: Why?
M: Because I don't like getting out after dark at this gas station.
S: Mommy...you have clothes on, are you?
M: Do I have clothes on?!
S: Yeah.
M. Yes, I have clothes on. What does that have to do with anything?
S: 'Tuz, Mommy, it's cold out there!

catching up on ben

I've been neglectful lately of my second-born. Not literally, I don't think, but in not keeping up with a monthly record of his second year like I did so faithfully for his brother. I suppose that's what happens when you're not the first (as much as I know it pains you, Joanna, to hear that). So, here's a recap of Ben's most important accomplishments the last few months:

Month 13 consisted of finally learning two big things: 1) that it really isn't such a bad idea to go down the stairs feet first on your belly, and 2) that real, big people food really is good. Ben started eating so much table food right about the time that we went to Kansas for Thanksgiving that we joked about leaving him there for a while since he obviously liked Mimi's cooking so much.

In month 14 Ben started learning how to use a fork and spoon--I guess he decided that if he was going to go about this whole table food business, he might as well do it the right way. He also started learning a slew of baby signs. And it didn't take long to realize that he picks up on them quickly--he'd just see us do one once or twice, and then he'd start doing it on his own without prompting. "Drink" and "hat" are the two he has since used most frequently (since drinks and hats are about on par with each other around here).

And then in month 15 the verbal onslaught began. Since Sean never said anything besides "Daddy" and "applesauce" before he was 22 months old, it took me by surprise when Ben, at 14 1/2 months old, blurted out "cah-cah" when he saw me opening up a box of crackers. After that it didn't take long for him to blurt out all kinds of things: "cah" (car), "baw" (ball), "dat-da" (Daddy), just to name a few.

Month 15 was also the month that he started to really take an interest in reading. He'd grab books off his bookshelf or pick them up around the house and just sit in the floor and "read", or if one of us was close by he'd bring it to us and raise up his little arms so he could be picked up and read to.

At his 15-month appointment he weighed 25 lbs. 5 oz. and was 32 1/2 inches long. Still a long guy, as always, but not quite as chubby as usual--he was actually down 4 oz. from his 1-year appointment. Not that he's hurting--he's still got plenty of meat on his bones for us to squeeze.

And then month 16. This last month brought a lot more words--"tzth" (teeth), "chuzz" (cheese), "guh" (yogurt), "ca-ca" (kitty cat), "bi-ba" (bible), "buh" (boo!), "booh" (balloon), "poo" (spoon), "buh-baw" (football)--I can barely keep up with all his new words.

But the hardest part of month 16, probably of the last 4 months overall, was his first haircut. I admit, I put it off until his sweet little baby curls had become an unsightly mullet. I just didn't want to say good-bye to those little curly locks around the back of his head until I absolutely had to. So instead of this...



now our little man looks like this:



I wish he wasn't growing up so fast, but if he stays this handsome, I think I can live with that.

from my friend mary...

"We can see God everywhere if we know how to look."

one, two, three...

This day three years ago, Chris and I came home with our 2-day-old firstborn. I don't know where the last three years have gone, but I've loved every minute of them with this kid. I thank God every day for loaning me this precious little boy--sometimes I still can't believe I'm the one who got him. And just when we think things can't get any better and he can't get any cuter or sweeter, they do and he does. And even though I'm proud of the little boy he's quickly becoming, a big part of me is sad that he will soon leave all stages of baby- and toddler-hood behind him forever (if he ever decides to get out of diapers!). So right now I'm just trying to cherish his sweet threesomeness and all the little things he says and does before they leave too, because I so desperately want to remember...

• how he wakes up every morning with a smile and boundless enthusiasm for the day
• how much he loves his "ohl-neen" (Ovaltine)
• how he loves to just sit and look through books at random moments throughout the day
• how he likes to "read" to himself before he goes to sleep for a nap
• how "the wise man's house" is his most frequently requested bedtime song and after-breakfast Bible story
• how he likes to make Ben laugh...and run in circles, and jump on beds, and play "tackle"
• how he likes to ask me, "Mommy, play with me hair," especially at bedtime
• how he's so quick to come up to us with spontaneous hugs and sweet little, "Mommy/Daddy, I yuv you"
• how he has to kiss all three of us good night every night
• how he loves cars and trains and airplanes, both real and toy ones
• how he loves to eat almost anything, but especially fruit and yogurt and the very rare (and therefore very cherished) sweet treat like a birthday cupcake
• how he tries to join in adult conversations like he really knows what's being talked about
• how he loves to talk on the phone...to anybody
• how he asks most of his questions in yoda-ese ("Mommy, this apple juice, is it?")
  
• how he tries so hard to do everything exactly as it's supposed to be done--three-point stance before a running tackle, dribble and run around before shooting a basket, hike the leg before throwing a baseball--and how he picks up all of that kind of stuff on his own without being taught
• how his memory is better than mine and Chris's combined and he'll make reference to obscure things that happened six months ago
• how his compassion just gets bigger the bigger he gets ("Mommy, what wrong?")
• how he loves going to Bible class and church and seeing all his friends (big and little, but mostly big)
• how he seems to get more and more lovable the longer he's around

Here's to you, little buddy. May you always be so quick to laugh and learn and help and love and play, because the world needs more of that. Happy birthday, Sean!

only boys

Warning: The following post is not for those who are squeamish about calling body parts by their given names and insist on coming up with cutesy nicknames so as to spare themselves, and their children (I suppose), some kind of embarrassment. For everyone else, read on and enjoy.

I challenge any mother of daughters to come up with a conversation quite as interesting as the one I had with Sean last week following his nightly bath:

[Just a sidenote: when Sean asks a question, his voice raises to an increasingly higher pitch, so by the time he's finished with his question and depending on its length, he may be speaking at an octave five times higher from where he started. Keep that in mind...]
Me: Sean, stop playing with yourself so I can finish drying you off.
S: Mommy, what dat?
Me: That's your penis.
S: My peanuts?
Me: Yes, Sean, your penis.
S: Mommy, why dat my peanuts?
Me: Because that's what makes you a little boy. Little girls don't have one of those.
S: Little girls don't have one of those? [The octave change that accompanied this question gave the implication that he was really asking, "You mean, there are people in this world who don't have one of these?! How do they get by?!"]

No, son, little girls don't have one of those. And mommies of little girls don't get to have conversations like this either.

Chris's only concern was that Sean was calling it his "peanuts" and now if anybody offers Sean some real peanuts...well, that could lead to another interesting conversation altogether.

plenty of boy clothes already, but...

I think baby #3 deserves at least one outfit to call his own! And he shall have it before his debut in June.

Another little boy. I have to say, I'm not surprised, I'm not upset, I'm not disappointed--never was from the moment we found out on Friday. In fact, I find that the more I think about it, the happier I am that we'll have yet another little man in our growing family. After all, with boys as fun and cute and just plain boyish as ours, who couldn't be happy to be getting another one?

And yet I get the feeling that so many people are surprised that we're not disappointed, or they are readily disappointed for us. Even the ultrasound tech apologized when she told us we were having another boy. I think part of it is because most people assume that three kids is our limit--it's not, we've always wanted four; and I think another part of it is that people assume we must be tired of raising boys and ready to move on to something else--we're not, and the little boys we do have are so vastly different that we're quite looking forward to seeing what this next one will be like--they're not little clones by any stretch of the imagination.

No, I can't say I'm in the least disappointed to be a mother of boys. Quite the opposite, actually. I've always had a vision of what an ideal man is, and what every man should be, and it doesn't take much observation to see that the world needs more "real" men--desperately needs them. And I'm thankful that God's giving me the opportunity to help teach at least three little boys what it means to be a man. And I'm especially thankful that they have a living example of godly manhood in their daddy, who I can easily point to and say, "That's what it means to be a man."

Do I want a little girl? Absolutely. I long for one. But if the Lord never blesses me with a daughter, I can honestly say that I will be more than happy with my crop full of little men.