Tobin ate a bug (I know, I know).  After fishing as much of it as he could out of Tobin’s mouth, Denny tried to calm everybody down.

D:  It’s not really so bad to eat bugs.  In some parts of the world, people eat bugs all the time.

M:  You mean shish-ka-bugs?

Miles and I were getting ready to watch a movie together in the basement while Tobin napped in his crib upstairs.

M:  Be sure to turn on the baby thermometer so you can hear him if he wakes up.

My dear Miles,

What do you know?  You turned sweet again.  I think last month’s memo happened to catch you at a time when you were coming down with a cold, and you weren’t exhibiting any symptoms besides grouchiness.  That has now passed, and you’re suddenly a pleasant person once again.  Hallelujah.

The weather has been nice lately, so we’ve been getting outside a lot.  This helps my sanity as we find ways to pass the afternoons, and you love going to the Faraway Playground.  Mostly you love taking off your shoes and socks and playing in the sand, which is fine if a bit messy.  However, you also enjoy playing in the wood chip area, which you don’t want to do barefoot.  Why do you always want to do the sand area first?  Do you know how difficult it is to help you get socks and shoes onto sand-covered feet while pushing a baby in a swing?

But that’s okay.  I’m glad you’re getting out and having fun.  I have to invent excuses to drag you away from the computer a lot of days, and a trip to the Faraway Playground is a good one.  You also enjoy taking trips to Hy-Vee for a treat, or even better, a sno-cone (or a Flavor-Ice, as they somehow got named in our household).

A couple of weeks ago, you chose rainbow, which is stripes of various flavors.  I had my usual, cherry margarita.  You took a break from eating yours and took a bite of mine.  “Yours is more tastier,” you said.

The next time we went to the Flavor Ice stand, I ordered a cherry margarita flavored sno-cone for my four-year-old.  It’s non-alcoholic, of course, but geez.  I can’t blame you, though.  It is a delicious combination.

Once recent trip to the Flavor Ice stand was to celebrate your school music concert.  The video I got of it wasn’t great, because you were hidden behind other kids a lot of the time, but it was still exciting to be in the audience.  You were so psyched about it.  Your music teacher, Mr. David, did a good job preparing you and your friends.  You talked about the concert for weeks before the actual event.  You sang us all the songs.  You did the actions.  Your dad and I know “A Sailor Went to Sea,” “Aiken Drum,” “Mother Goony Bird,” and “The Horse Stood Around” better than we ever thought we would.  You’ve come to really love music class at school, despite being suspicious of Mr. David at first (“I don’t like guy teachers,” you told us).  Now you are thrilled when I tell you it’s a music day at school, and you swoon when we mention Mr. David’s name.

Another exciting school event this month was V.I.P. day.  You chose Skittergramps as your special person, and despite being camera-shy, you had a lot of fun with him.  He was proud to be there with you, and he did get a few good pictures of you and your friends working and playing together.

Photo by Gary Clarke

His name-tag said “Gary Clarke, or Miles’s Skittergramps.”  Naturally, you made him add a couple more names, since you only rarely answer to Miles these days.  He had to add Marcus and Nemo to satisfy you.  I think he’s going to keep that name-tag for a long time.

It’s been rainy lately, and you’ve come to enjoy sleeping with the sound of the rain on the roof.  You’ve been cuddly at bedtime, enjoying “family sandwiches” and stories.  When I was a little girl, Skittergramps often used to fall asleep telling me bedtime stories, which annoyed me at the time, because I had to finish the story on my own.  Now I completely understand.  Most nights I awake with a start then look over to find you snoozing beside me.  Sometimes I fall asleep, wake up, check on you, and find you still awake.  Sometimes I wake up to find your face two inches from mine, peering at me.

You see, I’m tired pretty much all the time.  Taking care of two wiggly boys full-time is exhausting.  It’s not as hard as working a coal mine or something, but it certainly takes a lot of energy.  And you know what?  I’ve watched your friends at school.  You are not the wiggliest 4-year-old in Iowa City.

You might be the sweetest, though.

Most of the time.

I love you every minute of every day.

Mommy

We’re having the house painted, and the painter took our house number down so he could paint that area.  Miles has been concerned about that, and after coming home from a walk, he held one of the numbers back in its position.  When he let go, it fell down.

M:  Why didn’t the number stay up?

A:  I think it needs a nail.

M:  But I am a male.

Some Robert Munsch books have videos based on them, but one of Miles’s favorites, I Have to Go, doesn’t.  We decided to make our own.

Tobin has been putting things in his mouth that he finds on the floor all the time lately.  It’s been driving everybody crazy.

A:  Oh, no.  What did Tobin just put in his mouth?

M:  I think it’s…(pausing to consider) crap.

Tobin eats these little cereal bite things we call poofs (in homage to Cartman’s Cheesy Poofs).  He has white ones (banana) and purple ones (blueberry/purple sweet potato).  I scattered a few of each on his tray.

M:  The purple ones are more flavorish.

We were at the playground, and I was getting ready to push Miles on the merry-go-round.

A:  Do you want to go fast or slow?

M:  Slow.

After a few slow spins, he got braver.

M:  Now fasten up!

My special Tobin,

Nobody understands it.  Maybe you understand it, but you haven’t done much to explain yourself.  We can’t figure out how it’s possible for a baby to nap as little as you do and maintain such good humor.  It’s simply illogical.

I got a white noise machine.  I tried putting you down at exactly 2 hour intervals.  I tried 3 hour intervals.  I tried the same time every day.  I tried just watching your signals.  The going to sleep is no problem, usually.  It’s just that you always wake up after 20 or 30 minutes.  This is not enough napping.

To clarify:  this is not enough napping for me.  You seem to be doing fine.  You’re still growing and laughing and eating and playing and making these hilarious bear roars, and most nights you sleep well.  You just seem morally opposed to long naps.  That’s why these memos and your brother’s are always late nowadays, because I never get an hour to sit down and write them.  It’s your fault if you don’t have a comprehensive record of your formative years, you little fart.

And yet, you are the jolliest little guy.  You laugh at all kinds of things.  You get really excited about your favorite foods (currently yogurt), and you’re ticklish, and I swear the other day you gave me an actual kiss with suction and release.  You may have been trying to nurse from my cheek, but I’ll take it.

As always, your greatest source of laughter is your brother.  A week or two ago, your dad was working late downstairs while you and I were asleep in the Mommy and Daddy bed.  We still call it that in the hope that one day it will regain its accuracy.  Miles woke up and came in, which he sometimes does, and your dad usually takes him to the bathroom or gets him a drink or comforts him, then he ushers him back to bed in his own room.  But that night, since your dad wasn’t there, Miles seized the opportunity and climbed into bed with us.  When your dad finally came up to bed, he found his spot taken, and rather than haul Miles out of bed and risk waking him, he went into Miles’s room and slept there.

Somewhere around 2:30 a.m., you woke up, all ready for a Power Hour.  As I’ve mentioned before, a Power Hour involves you crawling around, wide awake and in a good mood, while I ignore you as best I can while making sure you don’t roll off the bed.  This isn’t usually too big an issue, since your dad is generally on the other side.  That morning, though, you looked over and found (insert sound of an angelic choir) MILES.  You were absolutely psyched to see him.  He was fast asleep, and I wanted him to stay that way, because I seriously didn’t need two awake children at that moment.

For you, though, it was like Christmas morning.  You crawled over to him, whapping him on the back with your little fists in an attempt to get his attention.  You smiled and laughed at his snores.  He was sleeping in a shirt and underpants, and his butt featured the face of Captain America.  That caught your attention, so you did a 180 and starting whapping his behind.

It wasn’t until 4:00 that you gave up and fell asleep.  Miles slept through the whole thing.  Something tells me that once we get you moved into your own room for nighttime sleeping, you’ll be creeping into Miles’s bed.  That’s not a bad idea, since Miles wants us to have five more babies.  In the unlikely event of that occurring, we’ll definitely need you guys to double up.

You are fully mobile these days, doing kind of a hybrid crawl/scootch powered by your right foot.  When you’re still, you can stay up on all fours pretty well, but your belly hits the ground when it’s time to move.  Sometimes you gather dust bunnies for me.  You’re very helpful.

You’ve learned how to remove your pacifier and put inappropriate things into your mouth.  Your favorite target is the scraps of paper your brother leaves around after his paper-cutting activities.  I try to keep things swept up, but it’s amazing how those things hide in the nooks and crannies of our house.  It’s even more amazing how you find them.

Your “talking” is beginning to sound more like English, with distinct syllables and lots of different phonemes.  You can definitely make an M sound, so I’m waiting in anticipation of a clear mama.  I’m probably kidding myself, though.  You’ll say Miles first, or some variant.

I’m so glad I know you, little Tobin.  I’m so grateful that I get to spend all day with you.  I’m also grateful that your dad is so happy to see you when he gets home (and you him).

You’ve been asleep for 31 minutes, so I’m going to finish this up so as to not push my luck.

I love you and your tickly little neck and chubby little thighs and nuzzly little nose.

Mommy

Tobin had crawled onto Miles’s legs in a way that had to have been uncomfortable for Miles.  As I extracted Tobin from the situation…

A:  Thank you for not hurting Tobin.  You were very patient with him.

M:  I kind of…like him.

Miles and I were in the bathroom.  I noticed that a needle, which Denny had recently used to extract a splinter, was on the floor.

A:  Why did Daddy let that fall on the floor?

M:  (solemnly) He’s not a good person.

I was helping Miles go to the bathroom, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  I was wearing an old favorite sweater, one that has seen more structurally intact days.

A:  Oh, look at that hole in my sweater.

M:  That’s not a hole.

A:  It’s not?  What is it?

M:  It’s an arm.

Dear Miles,

At a recent birthday party, our friend was bemoaning her lot in life as the mother of two girls.  “The drama,” she said.  “All the drama.“  I’m not sure a flair for the dramatic can be so neatly divided down gender lines, though, because things have been pretty rollercoastery around here lately.

You feel everything so, so deeply.  The strangest things will make you burst into tears, like today as we were eating lunch and you realized you’d done an alternate version of a verse in a song from school.  Two nights you had a huge meltdown on the topic of ibuprofen.  You’d fallen down and possibly jammed your thumb and wrist at the playground, and your dad wanted you to take ibuprofen (which you’ve had lots of times and know you like).  You refused, but your dad was holding his ground.  I saw his point:  he was trying to reinforce the idea that there are some times that Mommy and Daddy get to make the decision.  I was coming down more on the side of, “It’s his body.  If he doesn’t want pain relief, let him deal with it.”

In the end, we compromised.  I was afraid you were going to cry so hard you’d make yourself throw up, and not because of pain in your wrist.  Your dad backed off, and eventually you consented to the ibuprofen after you’d calmed down.  To be honest, I think the issue was more of a scrape than a wrist jam, so the ibuprofen was probably pointless.

In another attempt to be logical with you, your dad has started playing the Stubborn Game.  That’s a game in which you suggest something reasonable and he insists on the opposite for no good reason (art imitating life and all).  You get a kick out of it, and maybe you’re beginning to understand his ulterior motive.  One time you wanted to play the Stubborn Game with me, and I said, “No, and you can’t make me.”

That made you cry.  Fantastic.

Your strong emotions go the other way, too.  You’re a hoot when you dance and sing your songs from school.  We went out to your Nana and Papa’s farm last weekend, and you were so sweet and affectionate with your grandparents.  You had an amazing time playing on the farm, jumping off hay bales and riding with Papa on the four-wheeler.  When it was time to go, only a promise of a visit from the Easter bunny could drag you away, and even then, you really wanted to bring Nana and Papa with us.

You’re getting more independent, too.  You’re always proud of yourself when you get dressed on your own, and though you prefer to have help with bathroom tasks, you can do it by yourself when you must.  I think mostly you’re just very fond of routine, and even when you’re capable of doing something, you like your dad or me to help you if that’s how we’ve always done it.  I can sympathize.  I have trouble with change sometimes too, but it’s also important to learn flexibility.  You’re getting better at that, and I know you’ll continue to grow.

Your favorite new(ish) game is “Tobin Talk,” in which you demand that your dad or I talk in a squeaky voice and dictate Tobin’s presumed thoughts.  You do seem to want to play Tobin Talk at the most inopportune times, like when we’re in the parking ramp, trying to get the stroller collapsed and smashed into the trunk of the car, and someone wants our parking spot, and he’s screaming his head off.  It drives your dad and me crazy, because those are not the moments we feel like putting on a fake voice and describing the situation; we just want to get it finished and move out.

I think it’s a way for you to make sense of the world, though.  By asking us to do Tobin Talk, it forces us to slow down and talk over what’s happening.  It’s also sometimes a good way to get you to open up.  If “Tobin” asks, you’ll explain the rationale behind a rule.  It’s nice to know you get it, even though you don’t always want to follow the rules that apply to you.  Sharing is a challenge, both with your brother and other kids.  It’s probably no coincidence that this trait is emerging just as Tobin is getting grabbier.  You’ve gotten territorial about toys you never cared about before Tobin showed interest in them.

That said, I am happy that I can once again report that you’re always kind and gentle with Tobin.  You may yank a toy away from him, but you’d never hurt him or yell at him.  He smiles and laughs when you sing and dance for him.  You’re great for providing a few minutes of entertainment while I try to accomplish a household task or two.  When I thought about having a second child, I was worried about how much more work it would be than just having you.  It’s true, it’s more work, and I have less time and energy than I used to.  But one thing I didn’t anticipate was the value-add of a fascinating older sibling.  Tobin could just stare and stare at you, and you’re a good sport about it most of the time.

I had to stop this post midway, because we had such a rough day yesterday that I just didn’t have the energy or the kindness of spirit to write anything tender.  I know it’s rough on you too.  You’re learning so much and growing so fast, and you get stressed out like everyone else.  Today you’re my sweet little guy again, and it’s easy to regain my perspective.  On days like this, I want you stay 51 months old forever.  On days like yesterday, well…I’m glad I have your father.

We’ll make it.  I love you, my little skinny-butt boy.

Mommy

Not such a great day, yesterday.

First, Tobin had a terrible night.  I was optimistic, because he stayed in his crib longer than usual, but that night turned into a series of Power Hours broken up by 20-minute chunks of sleep.  Everyone was grumpy in the morning except Miles.

While Miles was off developing his little Montessori brain, Tobin crabbed and grumped and didn’t nap much.  He didn’t want me to put him down at all, so I held him and tried to get a few things done one-handed.  After we went to get Miles, Tobin’s grumpiness continued, but he was more or less content to play on the floor if he could see his big brother.  I took that opportunity to go put in a load of laundry.  I came back upstairs, and everything was fine until I remembered that I’d been soaking two pairs of Miles’s underwear.  He’s been having a hard time remembering to go to the bathroom when he only kind of has to go, as opposed to oh geez oh geez I have to go to the bathroom right now and oops I guess a little came out.

I really wanted to get those underpants into that load of laundry, so I double-checked that Tobin was okay, dumped out the poopy water, grabbed the poopy underpants, and raced downstairs.  On the trip down, I smacked my head into the part that hangs down over the stairs, which is usually taller than I am, but I guess my bounding leaps increased my height by just enough that I made significant contact.

Miles may or may not have learned a new word.  I didn’t follow up on that one.

I got the underwear into the laundry, came upstairs, and saw that Tobin had spit out his pacifier and had something in his mouth.  I looked down at my hands, which didn’t look dirty but were surely crawly with e-coli.  I looked at Tobin, who didn’t seem to be actually choking, so I hedged my bets and washed my hands really fast.  Fortunately, it was just a bit of carpet fuzz, and I got it out of Tobin’s mouth before anything terrible happened.

The rest of the afternoon went okay.  Tobin took a good nap, and I was still exhausted from the night before, so Miles got more computer time than usual, which he thought was pretty great.  We ordered pizza for dinner because I just couldn’t deal with cooking anything.

Then came bedtime.

I had gotten Tobin to sleep, and Denny and I were cuddling Miles in his bed.  We’d finished reading stories, and I turned off the light and was in the middle of telling one final bedtime story.  We were doing “family sandwich,” in which Denny and I are the bread and Miles is the baloney.  I was lying on my left side with Miles cuddled up behind me.

Out of nowhere, I heard a

UurrrrrrrrrghpSPLASH

and felt the warmth spread over my back.  I gave out an involuntary shriek, jumped out of bed and barely dodged another wave.

Miles’s entire bed and entire parentage were covered in vomit.  Miles started shrieking too (because throwing up is scary for a little kid), and Tobin woke up and started crying.  That upset Miles further, because he knows it’s bad news when the baby gets woken up, and he yelled, “Oh no, Tobin’s awake!”

Denny and I were trying to calm everyone down while removing puke-covered clothing from ourselves and Miles.  Denny took Miles into the bathroom for an emergency bath.  When he saw his pajama shirt in the mirror, he said, through sobs, “It’s RUINED.”  Denny tried to assure him that it wasn’t ruined, that it was just dirty and we’d wash it and it would be fine, but Miles wouldn’t drop the subject until Denny agreed that it was, in fact, ruined.

I went to get Tobin, tried briefly to reassure him, then gave up and put him  on the floor while I stripped Miles’s bed and got new sheets on it.  Denny worked on cleaning Miles up while I worked on getting Tobin back to sleep, then Denny put Miles back to bed.

Eventually we met in the hallway again, both of us half-naked because we hadn’t had a moment to put on clean clothes.  We must have said something to each other, though I don’t remember the words we exchanged.  I do remember looking at Denny and thinking, “Well, here we are.”

This morning when I went to wake Miles up for school, I said, “That was a crazy night we had last night, wasn’t it?”

He said, “What was crazy?”

M:  I drawed a picture.

D:  Yes, I like how you drew that picture.

M:  In this case, it’s drawed.

Dear Tobin,

It’s happened.  You’ve reached the biggest milestone for the under-1 set:  you got your first tooth.

It’s right where we’d expect it, bottom left.  You’ve been a little fussy about the whole situation, and despite your prowess at eating solid food and taking your vitamin drops, you can’t seem to keep a full dose of ibuprofen in your mouth. It’s interrupted your sleep, and we’ve all been a little crabby.  You have been doing much more sleeping in your crib, though.  You spend all your naps there now, and you usually do a few hours at bedtime as well. Also, looking back on last month’s TTT, I realize that it’s only been this month that you’ve started taking extended naps.  That’s been a welcome change.  Now you almost always take one long nap (an hour plus) per day, as well as a couple of shorter ones.

You had your first ride in playground swings this month.  For posterity, it has been a freakishly warm March.  We’ve had days and days in a row of record highs—over 80 degrees Fahrenheit.  Therefore, we’ve been outside a lot more than a person might normally in March, and you’ve really enjoyed our walks and trips to the park.  You’re getting so mobile that my strategy of spreading out a blanket for you only sort of works.  Before long, you’re rolling and scootching to the edge so you can grab handfuls of grass out of the ground.  You can’t quite crawl yet, but you’re starting to get where you want to go.  When you’re inside on the carpet, you grab the fibers and pull yourself while pushing with your toes.  Your belly is so chubby you can’t really get it off the ground, but you manage to move from one side of the room to the other, a few inches at a time.

It’s getting harder to keep you clean, with all your floor adventures and solid foods.  Right now your favorite food is probably pureed carrots with applesauce (or c’rapplesauce, as I call it).  You open your mouth wide when I hold the spoon toward you, and I think you’re starting to understand the concept of “more” and associate it with both the word and the ASL sign.

Another fun thing you did this month was see Uncle Tyler.  He’s too tough to admit it, but he loves babies, and it was sweet seeing him with you.  Your brother hogged him most of the time he was visiting, but you were able to get some attention too.

Photo by Gary Clarke

It seems to have gone as quickly as it came, and maybe it was related to teething, but for a few days there you were in a phase of making the funniest faces.  You’d suck your lips into your mouth and look like an old man missing his dentures.  It completely distorted your face, and you didn’t even look like yourself.  You do have a knack for expressions, though a lot of times people describe you as stoic because you’re so calm.  Little do they know you have a full arsenal of wackiness when you choose to display it.  I noticed tonight that you’ve been turning your tongue sideways in order to feel your bottom tooth.  Your eyebrows do amazing things.  Your eyes squish into little slits when you laugh.  Your face is just the best.

I’ve had a hard time getting you to sleep today.  When I tried to rock you, you strained and cried and punched me in the ribs.  I was feeling a little under the weather (you and your brother have both had a cough, and I’m afraid I might be getting a touch of something), and I was not in the mood for it.  This is probably the part where I admit that I don’t do the sleeping thing “right.”  All the parenting books and websites (and the nurse at your doctor’s office) say the parent is supposed to put the baby down while he or she is still asleep, so he or she can learn to fall asleep alone.

I never do that.  I rock you to sleep or nurse you to sleep every time.  When the nurse asks, I just lie.  Well, I don’t completely lie—after you do a “power hour,” you fall asleep on your own.  A power hour is a phrase I use to describe what sometimes happens during the wee hours of the morning.  You decide you don’t want to snooze peacefully between your dad and me, and you roll around, whack us with your limbs, babble, and generally horse around.  Your dad usually sleeps right through it (lucky turd), but I’m a light sleeper.

My major strategy is just to ignore you, since I know you’re safe between us, and eventually you always fall back to sleep on your own.  So yeah, I guess sometimes I let you fall asleep the “right” way.

But usually you fall asleep tucked into the crook of my arm in the soft brown chair in your room.  I’m okay with it.  That’s how I always did it with your brother, and he eventually slept through the night.  Maybe it wasn’t as soon as if I’d left him alone, and it probably won’t be as soon for you either, but that’s okay.  There’s going to come a time when you’ll push me away when I want to cuddle you.  I’m not going to force you out of my arms before you want to leave them.

Sometimes I’m even going to grab you and cuddle you when you don’t want me to.  Like picking your boogers and brushing flakes off your scalp, it’s my right and borderline compulsion as your mother.

I love you, and don’t you forget it, my little Chub-Chub.

Love,

Mommy

Note:  Miles likes it when Denny and I talk in a high voice and pretend to be Tobin talking.  Therefore, the T(D) means Denny speaking as Tobin.

M:  Pretend Tobin doesn’t know what a skeleton is.

T(D):  What’s a skeleton, Miles?

M:  It’s a scary creature that lives inside you.  Pretend Tobin doesn’t know what a skeleton doesn’t have.

T(D):  What doesn’t a skeleton have?

M:  Eyeballs.   Ask what else a skeleton doesn’t have.

T(D):  What else doesn’t a skeleton have?

M:  A penis.  Ask what else a skeleton doesn’t have.

T(D):  What else doesn’t a skeleton have?

M:  A skeleton especially doesn’t have HAIR!

M:  Knock, knock.

D:  Who’s there?

M:  Elevator.

D:  Elevator who?

M:  How do we get out of the elevator at school if there’s an electric eye?

D:  How?

M:  We RUN.

My dear Miles,

50 months, eh?  That’s a nice number.  This, like the year you were born, is a leap year, so I’ve gotten extra Miles this time around.  I remember during your first year being happy that you were born in a year with 366 days, because you got to be a baby one day longer than 75% of all babies.

But a baby you are not.  Now, with the baby chair occupied by Tobin, you sit up to the dinner table just like a regular guy.  You don’t exactly eat like a regular guy—your food repertoire remains pretty limited—but it’s nice having you at the table with us.  That is, when you’ll deign to join us.  We keep trying to impress upon you the importance of family dinner time, but sometimes you just refuse.  When you refuse, it’s difficult-to-impossible to get you to change your mind.

You’ve been kind of emotional lately.  Sometimes the smallest thing will make you completely flip out, and it’s really hard to predict what those small things will be.  Last night, as I was tucking you into bed, you asked why dinosaurs are just bones and not skin.  I tried to explain as gently and optimistically as I could that when things are dead for a long time, their skin becomes part of the earth and helps plants grow, and since bones are harder, they’re more likely to stick around.  You seemed okay with that explanation, but then you asked when their skin will come back, and when I told you that it wouldn’t, hoo boy.   You got to sleep very late last night, because it took you about half an hour to calm down from that screaming, crying fit.

Extinction is a tough concept for a preschooler, I guess.

At your parent-teacher conference last week, your teachers were shocked when we mentioned that you’ve been defiant and boundary-testing at home, because apparently at school you’re very sweet.  Of course, when I picked you up yesterday, your teacher told me you’d had a rough day and had yelled at several of your friends.  Your teachers view that as a negative, which of course it is, but in a way I’m glad that you finally feel comfortable enough at school to express your emotions.  We did have several talks about expressing frustration respectfully.  I hope that sank in.  [Update:  Your teacher said you did great today, so maybe you were just feeling a bit off.]

I wish you wouldn’t yell at anyone, but maybe yelling at your friends will give you some valuable feedback.  When you yell at your dad and me, we try to model positive behavior by calmly telling you that yelling isn’t an acceptable way to express yourself, that in our family we don’t yell at each other, and by suggesting other ways to communicate.  Something tells me one of your 4-year-old classmates is going to yell right back in your face.

(I admit, I tried that once, but it scared you so much and I felt so horrible about it that I’ve never done it again.)

One of the very best things you’ve done lately was spend time with your Uncle Tyler.  He was able to get away for about a day in Ames, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so excited over a span of 24 hours.  When he pulled into the driveway, you rushed out and jumped into his arms.  From that point forward, you guys were enmeshed in a near-constant game of Throw the Stuffed Animal off the Balcony.  Uncle Tyler even invented a new sub-game that involved trying to land the stuffed animal on the beam.  He also gave you a new book about dinosaurs (skin-on) that we’ve been reading a lot.

Photo by Gary Clarke

Every night we read four stories, and you often want a story from one of the several compilation books you have.  You have a book of Curious George stories (also a gift from Uncle Tyler), The Munschworks Grand Treasury, and a collection with stories based on the various Pixar movies, like Toy Story and The Incredibles.  Recently, when I asked which stories you wanted, you wanted one from the Pixar book and one from the Curious George Pixar book.  I tried to explain that Curious George isn’t part of Pixar, that Pixar is a company that invented some stories and characters and put them into that particular book.

“No,” you replied.  “Curious George is a Pixar book too, because you get to PICK one.”

So now the word Pixar means compilation.  Maybe some day you’ll make a Pixar playlist for someone, or whatever the 2022 equivalent of a mix tape/CD is.

A motif that continues to recur is your absolute sweetness when you deal with your brother.  I’ve mentioned it a lot in these memos, but it deserves to be repeated.  If I’m going to mention the challenges you present, it’s only fair to point out that you are truly a kind, loving brother.  You are always patient when I ask you to be because I need to take care of Tobin.  You do a great job when I ask you to watch him for a moment while I do something.  This morning, we all cuddled in bed together and you gave him so many great hugs and kisses.  He laughed and smiled like he always does when you pay attention to him.  We’ve been having fun at the park lately, enjoying these first warm early-spring days, and you thought it was really cool that you guys could be on the swings next to each other.

The other day, after a trip to the Faraway Playground, we stopped by Hy-Vee on the way home.  I bribed you with the promise of a lemonade to get you off the sand-digging toy, so in we went.  The lemonade we bought was clearly too big for you to handle on your own, so I grabbed another straw to share some with you.  Then I stopped and looked at the nutrition facts.  Ay yi yi!  I’m still working on losing the last of my baby weight from pregnancy, and that many calories just seemed like too many to get from a beverage.

Photo by Gary Clarke

I hesitated.  It was really warm, and the walk to the playground was long, and I was thirsty from pushing that double stroller.  And I love lemonade.  I stuck my straw into the bottle next to your straw and took a long drink.  As I did, you bent your head down and found your straw.  You pressed your cheek against mine and we slurped lemonade together.

At least it was one of those all-natural ones with no HFCS and actual lemon in it.

And even if it hadn’t been, that moment with you was worth it.

I love you so much.

Mommy

It has been a rough day.  This morning, we took Tobin for his 6-month doctor’s appointment.  He’s doing great developmentally, but the appointment also involved three shots and an oral vaccine.  I had to leave the examination room during the immunizations, because I have a passing-out problem (note to self:  maybe related to my lowish blood pressure?).  Denny stayed in the room to hold him during the shots.

After I heard the screams, I came back in to nurse and comfort him, but they shooed me away, saying, “That was just the oral vaccine.”  Oops.

Post-carnage, Tobes was doing okay, but he had a tough afternoon.  He spent most of the time crying inconsolably or sleeping fitfully in my arms.  That didn’t leave much time to interact meaningfully with Miles, and he responded by being especially whiny and defiant.

Luckily, Denny heard my unspoken plea and came home from work early.  Some freaking out continued, but eventually the boys settled down and we had a mostly nice evening.

A minute ago, Denny was trying to get Miles’s pajamas on.  I was nursing Tobin in the living room.  Tobin is currently in the irritatingly distractable stage, wherein any little stimulus will cause him to break his latch, turn his head toward the item of interest, and leave me dribbling.  While Denny struggled with Miles in his bedroom, Miles let out a loud howl.  Of course, Tobin jerked his head up to see what was going on.

“Don’t yell,” Denny said to Miles.  “Tobin’s eating.”

“No he’s not,” Miles replied.  “He’s sleeping.”

The ridiculousness of that statement made me laugh, which distracted Tobin again.  He looked up at me and started to laugh too.  I guess his legs are feeling better.

It continued.

“Look!” Miles announced, running out into the living room with a U-shaped travel pillow around his neck.  “I’m Saturn!”

These are the days of our lives.