A Painted House

Archive for April 2011

I have a ton of ’em. 

  • I have a garage sale in three days to prepare for.
  • I have two letters to my boys, one for each, to write.
  • I have pictures to take of no less than five projects that have been completed.
  • I have projects to complete.
  • I have a three-year-old now who has turned on the attitude like none other.  Let’s just say adequately responding to it is keeping me….occupied.
  • I’m working on a design project for a client.
  • My baby has a dirty diaper.  Again.
  • My kitchen table is covered in stuff that needs to be put away.
  • It’s been nice outside two whole days out of the last week.
  • We celebrated Easter.
  • My biggest boy isn’t napping so well these days.
  • We’re potty training.
  • I have thank-you notes to write.

All reasons why this blog has been rather cricket-y lately.  I sincerely hope that will improve soon.  Now off to change that dirty diaper.

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Dear Edison,

You’ve just turned five months old and YOU’RE SLEEPING BETTER!  THANK GOD ALMIGHTY! 

What’s that?  Stop yelling?  Oh no, this is cause for yelling.  Shouting.  Celebration in the streets that you have finally reached a point where you sleep around eight hours (8 p.m. – 4 a.m.) before eating and then another four-ish hours after that before getting up for the day.  You even managed a ten hour stretch one time.  I know that this is considered “normal” behavior for an infant at 4-6 months old, but considering how poorly your sleep patterns were progressing I’m tempted to rent a billboard.  My prayer life has been challenged by your sporadic sleeping and when you start to cry my first response is to mumble to myself, “Please God, put him back to sleep.  I need sleep.  Please, God put him back to sleep.  I need sleeeeep.”  And it seems God is either tired of hearing me plead or finally just figured out what that jumbled mess of words was actually requesting.

It’s ironic that your sleep has improved because as your dexterity increases you’ve started pulling out your own pacifier.  The very thing for which used to wake a dozen times a night crying, causing me to tromp down the hallway to find it and give it back to you, now you purposefully pop out of your own mouth and smile.  Humph.  At least you’ve also learned to put it back in.  I’ll never tire of watching you turn your paci over in your hands, aim for your mouth, and successfully get it placed just right.  To see you make even such a small accomplishment amazes me because just a few short weeks ago you were this little lump of baby.  Now you’ve identified an object, remember it’s function, trained your muscles to manipulate it into a specific position, and able to coordinate it all together to meet one of your own needs.  Astounding.  I’ll be really impressed when you learn how to freshen your own dirty bum.

Perhaps your cutest development this month has been finding your feet.  There is something so stinkin’ adorable about a baby on his back, legs folded up like a collapsed lawn chair, sucking on his own toes.  It cracks me up every time I lay you down on your back and your feet immediately pop up ninety degrees in the baby form of a reverse crunch.  You know, great for those steel abs every infant covets.  What you’re not doing is rolling over.  You, like your brother before you, do not like the dreaded “tummy time”.  And so even though you can put those legs up, turn on your side, and get ninety percent of the way over, you refuse to actually make it all the way there.  Which is super annoying because I have to answer every inquiry about whether you’re rolling with a, “no, not yet” and then explain that there’s nothing developmentally wrong, my children just prefer to be sedentary for the majority of their first year.  I think it’s a calorie conservation plan, considering you’re always wavering right on the edge of falling off the standard growth chart.

You’ve found your voice this month and started saying “babababa”.  Your Dad and I find this endlessly fascinating and find ourselves paying rapt attention as you spit out unintelligible syllables.  Much to the confusion of your brother who speaks in paragraphs at a time and doesn’t get what the big deal is.  You mumble things that aren’t even words and we are thrilled; he conducts an entire conversation about how he does NOT have to go to bed complete with three reasons and a Power Point presentation, and we’re less than impressed.  Life’s just not fair.

You and James haven’t had many chances to chat, Edison, what with the language barrier and all.  Plus as a rule I don’t leave you alone together just in case he decides to drop the nice act and see how many legos fit in your eardrum.  But last week I had propped you up on the pillows on our bed while I ran downstairs to retrieve something and when I came back up I heard James talking to you.  I peeked around the corner to see you and your brother sitting side by side on our bed and listened as James told you all about how his birthday was coming up and he would have a Chuggington cake and there would be balloons and presents and how he was going to blow out the candles and asking you if you would like to wear a party hat, baby brother?  You were enraptured by him, all smiles and coos.  It was about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and my Mama heart melted a little bit to see my babies interacting.  I know James is going to love it when you get just a bit older and can talk with him, play with him, antagonize him, tell on him.  As long as no where in your conversations do you conspire to rent a billboard that says, “Dear God, please send us a lamb.  Our Mom keeps telling us that she needs Sheeeeep.”

Love, Mama

GAH!  I just realized Edison turns five months old next week and I never posted his four month letter.  Bad Mommy!  So let’s pretend it’s three weeks ago, shall we?  And not notice when his next letter goes up in just a few days,  that this was the fastest month ever!

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Dear Edison,

Last week you turned four months old.  And in what is quickly becoming tradition, this letter is late.  To be fair, I’ve thought up lots of content in the last week but it always seems to come to me in the middle of the night and by morning slushie brain has taken over and all that writing material is long gone.  Along with any chance of hiding the dark circles forming under my eyes.  You.must.start.sleeping.longer.stretches.  Anything more than two hours will do.  Just give it a try, I bet you’ll like it!  And if not I’ll refund your money.

You got to turn four months old on your first trip away from home!  We went to Grandma and Grandpa Pierce’s house for a long weekend and you did beautifully.  You behaved wonderfully, adjusted to the change in surroundings, and handled the car rides about as well as can be expected for someone your age.  You didn’t particularly care for the last hour of each ride and the only thing that seemed to keep you happy was if I craned my arm around the back of my seat and let you suck on my finger.  My arm was asleep and fingers were tingling, but it was a worthy trade for the happy silence coming from the back seat.  Just you nevermind the permanent nerve damage.

During your third month we moved you into your own room at night.  Did you know that your bedroom is approximately fourteen miles away from mine?  At least that’s how it feels compared to the two feet away you used to be.  That first night you slept all the way down the hallway in your crib I felt like you might as well have packed up your stuff and moved to Detroit.  Which we all know you’re not allowed to do until you’re twenty-five.  We moved you because you were growing louder and louder in your sleep, snorting and sighing and in general keeping us awake more than we needed to be.  And yet when you were gone it felt like the silence was deafening even with the monitor turned all the way up, and I ended up trekking down to your room three times more often than probably necessary to make sure you were still making all that noise.  Something about that feels vaguely counter-productive.  But it was time, sweetie, to accept that you’re no longer a tiny newborn.  In fact you’re growing and changing at a faster rate than I’m entirely comfortable with.  You had your four month checkup this week and we found out that you’re topping out the chart in height, so much so that you’re growing out of 3-6 month clothes already, and hanging out at about the 25th percentile for weight.  Which feels incredibly familiar, as you’re matching your brother’s stats ounce for ounce and half inch for half inch.  If you continue to follow his growth pattern you too will be able to reach the faucets in the bathroom by the age of two and if you and James work together, you can flood the entire house in one afternoon!  Everyone’s got to have a goal.

Edison, let’s talk about how incredibly, achingly cute you are.  You’re so cute I can hardly stand it.  It takes an incredible amount of self-control not to swallow you whole, every single day.  Instead I limit myself to just snacking on that sweet, chubby little spot right below your ear.  I can’t even take credit for how stinkin’ adorable you are.  I may have helped to conceive and carry you, but God did all the choosing.  It all starts with those luminous half-dollar sized eyes that are always watching, always shining, always searching me out.  You are definitely a Mama’s boy right now and if I’m anywhere in the vicinity you’re trained on me, just waiting for me to look your way.  And oh boy, when I do you turn on that smile.  That smile that lights up your whole face and carries right down through your wriggling little body to those kicky, kicky legs.  Your Grandma says that one of these days you’re actually going to turn inside out with glee, and I agree.  I swear, son, when you grin there’s actual sunshine radiating off of you and it fills the entire room.  Boy are we going to have a time of it, not giving you everything your little heart desires just so we can see that smile one more time.  So I tell you what; you keep letting just a look from Mama be all it takes to turn you inside out with joy and I’ll keep right on looking.  After all, with a face like that, how could I not?

Love, Mama


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