A Painted House

Dear Edison,

You’re fifteen months old!  It seems the fifteenth month is when those squishy little parts of your brain related to technology finally firm up and all of the sudden you’re capable of starting up your own email account.   You were born into that generation that will never know what life was like before cell phones and wireless internet, a fact illustrated when you hold up any rectangular, flat object to your ear and pretend to talk.  Coasters, plastic waffles, envelopes…..they all become cell phones in your hands.  Likewise, anything remote-shaped suddenly becomes a substitute Wii controller.  Unless of course you can get your grabby little hands on an actual Wii controller, leading to levels of glee only matched when you manage to get ahold of the TV remote or the telephone.  It’s astounding to me, Edison, that at a mere fifteen months you can convincingly imitate your Dad and big brother playing Wii bowling.  You stand facing the TV, hold the controller (or wooden spoon, can of tomato paste you stole out of the pantry, whathaveyou) and swing it back and then above your head just like you were bowling.  What do you bet if we let you play an actual game, you’d kick my tush?  I certainly wouldn’t be betting any trips to Taco Bell on it.

I think it’s time we discuss a particular quirk in your personality, Edison, and the paragraph after I discussed your fascination with electronic devices seems as good as any.  See, as much as you’re committed to gaining unlimited access to the buttons on the phone, the remote, and the DVD player, your favorite toys are much more low-tech.  You are at your absolute happiest when you have in your possession the combination of a cup and a spoon.  That’s it…..just an empty vessel and a utensil with which to stir.  Any cup-like object will do; tupperware, plastic bowls, play-doh containers are all equally prized.  And the stirring component isn’t specific either….a plastic whistle, ruler, popsicle stick, or pen will all do just fine.   Should you happen to have a lid that fits on the cup, well, it seems there’s nothing more fascinating in this world.  So imagine your “I won the lottery!!” face when you found the bin of sippy cups in the kitchen cupboard.  A whole huge box full of cups and lids and straws that can be mixed and matched.  You immediately crawled into the cabinet with the bin and shut the door as if, overwhelmed, you needed a moment to collect yourself before you could carry on with all the matching and the stirring and the lid swapping.

This month you got your third haircut, Edison, this one at the hand of your mother.  And I’m pleased to inform you that you still have both your ears!  It’s the firs time I’ve attempted such a feat, cutting the hair of my child wielding a sharp object and a negligible skill level, but thankfully it went so much better than I imagined it would.  Your brother has been getting bi-monthly haircuts for years now but as he spent the first two years acting as if someone was removing his fingernails along with each strand of hair, I’d not attempted to cut his hair myself; I was too busy pinning him down so someone else could.  But YOU, dear one, are most easily and thoroughly distracted by two things:  snacks and Veggie Tales.  So I stripped you down, poured a massive pile of Kix on your high chair tray, and popped in some “Veggies” as you call them. Twenty minutes later the Kix were gone, the show was over, your hair was shorter, and not one tear had been shed.  I was almost shell-shocked by the sheer ease of the experience.  And who knows, if we can keep this up in a couple of months you might not have to walk around sporting that choppy section in the back or those uneven sideburns!

I’ll end this letter by telling you just how adorable it is now that you’ve started waving and telling people “bye” when prompted. Especially because your Alabama roots on your Mama’s side are coming through loud and clear and you pronounce it with a southern accent.  As if I needed another reason to nibble your face a dozen times per day, now I have to resist the urge to swallow you whole each time we go to leave a room and in your best Miss Alabama Contestant imitation, you wave your little hand back and forth and call out, “Baaaaah!”

Love, Mama

Dear Edison,

You’re fourteen months old!  I’m so glad I waited until the end of the day you turned fourteen months to start this letter because just before bedtime tonight you decided it was time to walk.  You’ve been toying with the idea for a while, flying around furniture and launching yourself between stationary objects with your arms spread wide like one of those flying squirrels.  But tonight you finally summoned the courage to let go, trust your own feet, and toddle your way across the dining room and into the outstretched arms of your Daddy.   And then you did it over and over and over again, your excitement growing each time, until you were flinging yourself back and forth between your Dad and I with uncontained glee and a reckless disregard for your own safety.  And your Dad and I were just as excited as you were, cheering you on like you were competing in the Olympics.

This month’s letter is one of those that won’t just write itself, Edison, because it’s the middle of winter and we’ve been cooped up inside for several months now.  Which means we’ve been staring at each other, the new paint color in the kitchen,  and little else for weeks.  Also, we’re taking turns at whose nose gets to alternate between Fire Hose and Cotton Wad status.  It’s the least fun game, ever.  So I might find myself stretching for material here and waxing poetic about the adorable way you empty the sippy cup bin all over the kitchen floor every stinkin’ time I turn around.  One minute the kitchen is clean and the next it looks like someone threw a hissy fit in the cup aisle at Babies R Us.  Or maybe I’ll talk about how you must have been born with a homing device leading you to the remote control, no matter how sneaky we are about hiding it.   The back of the couch, behind the throw pillows, on top of the kitchen table….these are all no match for you my little button-pusher.  I swear we could bury that thing in the garden and plant tomatoes over it and you’d find a way to resurrect it and change the channel on the TV during the pivotal scene of James’ favorite TV show.  This does not annoy him at all.

All that to say, we’ve all been challenged to find ways to keep busy during these winter months, a task at which you’re exceptionally good.  There is always another cupboard to empty, another drawer of batteries and silverware and sundry baby-maiming objects to discover, another roll of toilet paper to unwind.  And I will admit that not once but twice in a week’s time did I enter the kitchen to discover that you’d reached further than I thought you could, pulled down James’ half-finished carton of yogurt off of the kitchen table, and painted yourself, the chairs, and the floor in pink goo.   And I don’t even want to talk about how many times I found you with your hands in toilet water before I remembered to always, always, always keep the bathroom door shut.  So smart, I am.  You may catch on incredibly quickly to new ideas but it seems I do not.  The upside, if there is one, is that you now regularly smell like strawberries.

We’re so looking forward to introducing you and your wobbly little walk to the outside world in a few weeks, Edison.  You’re going to love this thing called Spring and all the places outside the walls of this house that your legs can take you.  Hopefully by the time I write your next letter, we’ll be experiencing some of that together.  In the mean time we’ll pass the time by emptying the DVD cupboard, dumping the pieces out of every puzzle we own, and spreading Hotwheels cars far and wide across the living areas of our home.  It seems these things never grow old, a fate I regularly wish for you.

Love, Mama

Dear Edison,

You’re well into your thirteenth month.  I’m usually a bit more prompt in writing your letter but your thirteen month birthday fell three days before Christmas and in all the hoopla surrounding the holidays I’m just now sitting down to get caught up.  This was technically your second Christmas but the first for which you were awake most of the day.  Your favorite part of Christmas this year was far and away, the Christmas tree.   We’d no sooner put an ornament on the lower third of the tree and you’d reach up and yank it down.  To tell the truth your Dad and I found this endless cycle, James decorating only the bottom third (as it’s all he could reach) and you just as determinedly and systematically un-decorating it, to be hilarious but it seemed prudent after a while to put a stop to the madness before James’ head exploded.  To keep you away from the tree, and thus prevent you from climbing it like a cat, your Dad constructed a just-tall-enough baby gate for the oversized doorway between the dining room and the reading room.  I thought for sure you’d throw a royal fit at being barred from a whole room of the house but you took it in stride.  In fact it became a favorite pastime to carry small objects over to the gate and then throw them over and out of reach.   Had I widened the scope of all those pretty pictures I took of the tree the frame would have included three puzzle pieces, two Hotwheels cars, a half dozen foam alphabet letters, and a bottle brush strewn over the floor.  If ever there were a more truthful picture of life with a mobile baby I don’t know what it would be.

The major news since your birthday is that you took your first independent steps.  As luck (and sentiment) would have it, you chose to take them in the same room in which your brother took his first steps.  We were visiting Grandma and Grandpa Casper just after your birthday and you tottered a few inches across the living room of the 100-year-old Casper family homestead.  Edison, I know there was no way that was a conscious choice on your part, to mark that particular milestone in that particular location, but just indulge me and let this sentimental Mama believe that you might turn out to be my history-conscious kid.  You know, the one who displays old family photos, stores hand-written recipes in a box somewhere, and keeps track of the Casper family history.  But, should this little dream of raising a sentimental kid come true, promise me you won’t take it to the level of a hoarder.  I mean it’s one thing to keep my Grandma’s recipe for meatballs because a) it’s written in her handwriting and b) they’re stinkin’ delicious; it’s another to keep a tube of Chapstick that your Dad used to leave in the glove compartment of his car.  Just so you know the difference.

Edison, I would be remiss if I let this letter go by without mentioning a little habit you’ve developed.  And frankly, it’s weird.  When most kids get tired they rub their eyes or pull on their ears; when you’re tired you’ve taken to pinching the skin on your neck between your first finger and thumb.  See?  Weird.  But for some reason it’s also really adorable.  You’ve always been cuddly and your slim little frame is perfect for snuggling up right under my chin, head on my shoulder.  But it’s just that much cuter when you cuddle in to my side and then without fail, reach your hand up and gently pinch your own neck.   Edison, please don’t ever try to play professional poker because with a tell like that, you’ll lose your shirt.

I think it’s safe to say, a little over a month into being one year old, that I love this age.  One year olds are sweet and curious and happy and wildly entertaining.  And I especially love this age on you, Edison.  Your gregarious nature, eager smile, and that fast crawl you do when you just can’t get to me fast enough make me wish that we could somehow skip the future, more contrary age of Three and instead do an extra year of One.  You are much loved, my little neck pincher.

Love, Mama

Dear Edison,

Happy birthday!  You’re a whole year old!  I’m not entirely sure how that happened, as I swear you were just born a few months ago.  In the real world you may have continued to age but in my head you’ve stalled out somewhere around seven months.  So I continually find it shocking when you’re able to do more, understand more, imitate more than I think you should at your age.  This month you figured out how to stack items to make your own towers, put small items into and take them out of baskets, and disassemble the dishwasher.  You think I’m exaggerating but you’re a magnet to that appliance and every time I lower the dishwasher door you come crawling as fast as your little bum can wiggle.  And then you pull out the silverware drawer, scoot the bottom rack off of it’s rails and test the hinges as you climb up onto the lowered door.  And then you smile at me with that adorable grin as you sit amongst the rubble.

Speaking of that grin, it’s changed a bit this month.  Your top two teeth came through, bringing the total to four and completing your jack-o-lantern smile.  Heaven help us if every tooth you gain equals as much drooling, not-sleeping, and general crankiness that these four have brought.  I just might have to find us a baby dentist and get you fitted with a killer set of shiny new dentures.  I promise it won’t look creepy at all to see a one-year-old with a full set of pearly whites.  Really.  Thankfully your mood bounces back the minute that first point pokes through and we’re rewarded with about a hundred opportunities per day to admire your new acquisitions as you giggle your way through life.

Your new teeth have significantly helped your already great eating habits.  You’ve become really effective at squashing up tougher foods so I’ve felt comfortable expanding your menus to include things like chicken nuggets.  It’s a monumental, life-changing day in a kid’s life, the day when their parent hands them that first taste of breaded, fatty, chickeny goodness.  Though we have figured out that you’re not always actually ingesting quite as much food as we thought in one sitting.  It may SEEM like you ate a quarter cup of green beans .  But then we lift you up out of your seat and find seventeen squashed beans, fourteen Cheerios, and three pieces of cheese.  Which is only unfortunate when cheese was not served at this particular meal.  And don’t forget the inevitable surprise I get when I change your diaper later and four peas and an entire cracker fall out.

You’ve started pulling up to a standing position this month and cruising around anything that will hold still.  Furniture, tall toys, walls, the back of my pant legs….if it is stationary for more than three seconds you yank your little tush up off the ground and wobble around it like a drunken monkey.  By the way, your brother haaaates it when you try to use him as one of those stationary objects.  As in full-on freak out, “He’s TOUCHING ME!” mode.  Use that information as you see fit.  It’s darling to watch you take in the world from a new vantage point approximately twelve inches higher than your previous view.  Your curiosity is endless and we’ve had to once again re-evaluate which things you can and cannot reach.  The Tupperware drawer, DVD cabinet and throw pillows?  Go for it.  Cause mass destruction.  Food processor, glass lamps and kitchen trash?  Sorry, but no.

Oh dear, I said “that word.”  Edison, you have a particularly violent reaction to hearing the word “No”.  As in hysterical, disproportionately angsty, face-melting displeasure.  And then you immediately reach for the denied object again, all the while carrying on the racket which subtly hints at your feelings toward being reprimanded.  And while we probably shouldn’t, your Dad and I find it stinkin’ hysterical.  Mostly because you carry the disadvantage of being the second born into a home which already houses a three-year-old.  Sorry, butter bean, but no one-year-old’s post-correction meltdown can hold a candle to what your brother can do when HE’s really upset.  So we gently correct and redirect you, and then hide our grins as your feelings are once again crushed at learning you STILL cannot systematically rip the leaves off of Mommy’s potted plant. 

Love, Mama

Dear Edison,

You just turned eleven months old.  Naturally this means you’re only a few weeks away from reaching a whole year of age but as I’m in complete disbelief and denial about that, let’s just focus on what’s taken place during this month, ok?

You’re working very hard at taking your new mobility and parlaying it into a heart attack for Mama.  First you learned to sit up from a crawling position onto your knees.  Which, by the way, is face-meltingly adorable when you peek up over the edge of the couch cushions to see what I’m doing up here.  It’s not quite as darling when you use those superpowers for bad and choose the moment when I’m trying to get dinner together to pull up on my pant leg and whine like an angry sheep.  Anyway, that heart attack.  It didn’t take long before pulling up onto your knees led to tiny you facing the steep incline of the stairs.  Thankfully I was right there watching when the idea first popped into your brain, as clearly as if a thought bubble had appeared above your head, that you could climb that mountain.   I waited to intervene to see how you’d do and when you effortlessly reached the third stair on your first attempt I decided it was time we invest in a ball and chain.  A baby gate is a good idea but only if the other three people in this house remember to leave it closed; most notably the larger version of yourself who feels the need to run upstairs and check on his ceiling fan several times a day.  A solid cast iron weight would keep you grounded and save Mommy that coronary upon finding you either half way up to the top or half way down to your death, depending on how glass-half-full I’m feeling.

You started babbling “Dada” this month, much to the delight of your father.  You’ve been saying Mama for the past five months so Daddy was really, really ready for you to figure out his name.  I shouldn’t tell you this but I’m pretty sure you could get just about anything your heart desires if you’d aimed a well-timed “Dada” and those enormous, shining eyes of yours at your Dad.  And the things your heart desires most?  The TV remote, my cell phone, Daddy’s glasses, anything anyone near you is placing into their mouths, and every toy in this house in which your brother shows an interest.

During this month for the first time I spent two days and two nights away from you, Edison. I flew to Kansas City to visit some friends, leaving you and James in the capable hands of your Dad.  In preparation for my 48-hour absence I worked and worked and worked to stock the freezer with enough milk to keep you full the entire weekend.  You’ve proven stubborn in the past when it comes to drinking from a bottle but I figured two days is a long time to hold out; surely you’d give in and eat after an attempt or two.  Boy, did I underestimate just how stubborn you can be.  Over those two days, ten feedings in which you should have downed at least sixty ounces, you drank approximately eight ounces, and those from a straw cup instead of a bottle.  And you weren’t even sad about the change of program.  You filled your tummy with people food with barely disguised glee, largely ignoring your liquid diet.  You know who was sad about that?  Your mother who spent weeks building up that stash of liquid gold just for you, so that you wouldn’t have to deal with the unfamiliar taste of formula In my absence.  And you chose scrambled eggs instead.  For shame, Edison.  But lest I sound too much like one of those guilt-shoveling mothers, it did my heart good to know that you wouldn’t take your nourishment from just any old source.  Only Mama would do.  And though I enjoyed my bit of time “off” to recharge, I found myself sighing in contentment when I was once again back in your rocking chair, cuddling you close.

Love, Mama