Preschool

We’ve known for a while that Hooper was ready for preschool. It happened about the time he stopped taking his marathon naps (seriously, sometimes they were up to 4 hours long) and insisted on watching back to back to back episodes of Curious George.
I hesitated, knowing I’d be having back surgery and therefore having to delegate yet another chore to another friend or family member.
Initially we were going to wait until I was fully recovered but we both decided he was more than ready and we figured we could swing it at this point in recovery. That, and we couldn’t handle him kicking, pinching, or biting Van one more time.
Willy looked at me from across the table on one of our lunch dates and said, “How do we sign him up?”. I always giggle to myself when he asks me questions as if I’ve been a mother longer than he’s been a father. I looked at him with equal cluelessness and said, “I dunno”.
And so, we made a few phone calls.
The first school we toured was a Montessori. Perhaps it was the fact that we saw the price prior to the tour, but neither of us got the warm fuzzies. We drove away wondering how the majority of people afford to put their kid through pre-school. No, really, how do you all put your kids through pre-school?
In the hopes of finding something more affordable, we stopped at a church and inquired about their program. Before price was even discussed, Willy and I gave one another the secret nod of approval. It all felt very organic.
And, just like that, Hooper started pre-school.
The first day Willy and I dropped him off together. He went straight for the toys without looking back and Willy and I walked to the car giggling over the thought of that day marking the first in what is bound-to-be years of schooling. I picked him up and was given a few handouts with classroom information, a playdough recipe, and a list of some things the teachers needed for the classroom and all the sudden I was the legit parent of a pre-schooler.
Despite a couple days of long faces at the time of drop off, he’s been doing great. I started him three days a week, half-days.
My favorite day yet was the day I dropped him off wearing a beanie with a large pom pom on top and came four hours later to pick him up to find he still had the cap on his, albeit a bit disheveled. The teacher told me he didn’t want anyone to take it off. I giggled to myself all the way to the car as I put my sweaty little ski-cap wearing toddler in the car. Man I love that kid.
When did you start your little one in pre-school? Is pre-school affordable in your area?

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Hooper & Recovery

I knew I’d be relying on a lot of people post operatively. And none have disappointed. My husband, my parents, my in-laws, my grandma, my sister, and a handful of friends have been making this merry-go-round go round. I’ve been filled with more gratitude than pain, more love than weakness.
I didn’t expect any help, in any way, from either of my boys.
There was an evening, before my surgery, that I explained all that was going on to Hooper. Nervous and anxious, I cried as I told him his Mama was going to have a big owie on her back. To my surprise, he got down off the sofa, kissed my back, and instructed me to see his pediatrician.
Following my return home from rehab, I had several breakdowns. I had no idea how emotional recovery would be. I sat there at the dinner table, nauseous with my stomach in knots, crying over a plate of food I could not eat but knew my bony frame needed to eat. And it was Hooper who was first to climb down from his chair and wrap his arms around his fragile Mama proclaiming, “I make Mama allllllll better”. He was a bit perplexed when his sweet gesture made me cry harder; eyes as big as I’ve ever seen filled with concern, worry, and love for his Mama.
When the physical therapist (aka my mom) comes to the house to do ultrasound on my neck, it’s Hooper who pulls up a chair next to me and insists on watching as his Nina (grandma) makes Mama “allllll better”. And when I wake up in the morning and dangle at the edge of the bed, it’s Hooper who will stop anything he’s doing to help me with my brace. And when he goes for a bike ride or a walk outside, he always returns with a bouquet of dandelions he picked for none other than his Mama.
It warms my heart.
It’s so interesting to watch how your children adapt to new circumstances; how their character grows and expands. His tender touch, his helping spirit, his genuine concern… These past few months I have been so proud to call him my son.
Wishing his kindness would transfer over to his relationship with his brother. That’s a whole other story…

Three Years Old

Growth & Appearance: You got a trim this month after your neck presumably started hurting after having to tilt your head up so you could peer through the hair in your eyes. You’re already due for another hair cut and I think your Papa and I agree that it needs to be cut shorter, otherwise we’ll be cutting it every month.
Your feet and nails are always dirty, proof of the amount of time you spend outdoors.
You had your 3 year well-toddler check up. You weigh 32.5 lbs and are in the 70th percentile for both height and weight. You’re on track to be just like your Papa, 6’1, 160 lbs.
Eating: Slowly but surely you’ve become “one of us” at the table. You eat the same food we do and do not require some ridiculous distraction to get a bite of food in your mouth. Not that all is dandy… you try to get up 20x during a meal and we’re constantly reeling you back to the table. I’m pretty sure Papa has threatened to tape you to your chair, but I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that so forget I said it.
You hate making a mess. You often whine when a bite of food lands on your shirt or when food spills off your plate. You require a napkin during mealtime so you can clean your messes.
I should also note that you still rely on us often to put the spoon or fork in your mouth. It’s ridiculous and, again, I’m embarrassed to admit it. You’re more than capable to do it on your own so long as we’re willing to sit there all. day. long. while you take you sweet ass time.
Talking: The other weekend, Papa took you to an outdoor market. You found a basket of old cars and Papa allowed you to chose one. He said you had a handful of cars in one hand until you came upon a tow truck and dropped every car that was in your hand and proclaimed, “WOWWWW”. You came home with a tow truck.
You’re very polite, always saying please and thank you.
Over this past month, you’ve added a lot of words to your vocabulary and are able to express yourself quite well. There isn’t anything that you don’t say and, these days, there’s very few moments where you’re not talking. The doc says you’re right where you should be.
You love saying “hola” (hello in Spanish) and “adios” (goodbye in Spanish).
There was a period where you answered everything with “shore” (sure). For example, “Hooper can you pick up that toy?”, and you’d say, “uh huh, shore”.
Sleeping: You rarely nap anymore, though you get cranky around 6 or 7pm and we are left to deal with your crazy shenanigans until we put you to bed. Some days you actually ask to take a nap but it’s so close to dinner and bedtime that we chose to keep you awake.
You sleep great over night for a solid 11-12 hours. And more times than not, your pull-up is dry when you wake up.
When you wake up, you yell at the top of your lungs “HA-WOAHHH” (hello!), followed this morning by “I gotta go potty!”.
Development: You’re beyond ready for preschool. As soon as my back is healed, that’s top on our list.
You love to lock doors.
You fully understand that I am recovering from a big “owie” and you often like to “make mama happy” by giving me a hug.
Sometimes, usually when you’re whining at the dinner table, you’ll say, “I wanna cry”. I tell you that you can if you’d like and you just smile.
You’re bound to cut your head open one of these days because no matter how many times we say “no”, you won’t stop jumping on the sofa.
You have a clear understanding of what’s yours and what’s not and that it’s not okay to touch or play with things that aren’t ours. When we walk past a motorcycle, for example, you look at me with your little palms held up to the sky and say, “not hours” (not ours).
You love to make funny faces and dance crazy in front of the mirror, wildly waving at yourself and turning around in circles.
You’re fully potty trained. One day you asked to make ca-ca in the toilet and ever since that random day, you poop in the potty. Sometimes you’ll fake us out and drag us into the bathroom what seems like a 100 times before you actually go… but you do eventually go.
You help me empty the dishwasher by putting the utensils away. You also help me feed Sarah.
You’re able to ride the bike g’paw Niles bought you for your birthday. It’s a tricycle and you finally figured out how to push on the petals after Papa taped your feet to them.
You surprised us when you got alphabet letters to put in the bath and you knew many of the letters. Hashtag: Thanks Super Why.
Favorites: You and your brother love watching The Fox Song on YouTube. Your favorite part is the grandma sitting in the rocking chair in the forest. Every time, without fail, you point and say “whook at gamp-paw” and proceed to chuckle. Every time.
Cars, tractors, trucks, bikes… things with wheels still rock your world.
You love playing outside, going for walks, or riding your bike.

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Happy Birthday, Hooper

It’s
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just like everyone said it would be; time has flown. I’m left scrolling through blog post after blog post over the past two years as some sort of proof that, indeed, my first born is three years old today. Less of a toddler and more of a kid.

Happy birthday, Hooper. My first born. My first love. The game changer. My beautiful boy.

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Life

I happened to have my camera in the undercarriage (ha, undercarriage… am I the only one that thinks that’s a funny word? It might be up there with “moist” on my list of would-rather-not-use-words) of the stroller back in September when we were out shopping. As a side note, don’t let the easy flow of that sentence fool you; I go shopping as often as Ray Charles sees the sun. In any event, I snapped these two pictures of Hoop. Maybe I should mention also that I shot these before my surgery because these days I only dream about getting down on the floor like that. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to bend and twist and lift. I wish I wouldn’t have cut of his feet in the first photo, but you can still barely see his toes on his right foot. No shoes, no big deal. He spit all over that mirror. He’s real into spitting lately. Then he insisted on going in the fitting room with Willy, when I snapped the second photo. Oh ya, and he refers to all mannequins as “monsters”.
What does shopping with your kid look like?

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Portraits of my children

“The only person you
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are destined to become is the person you decide to be”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Childhood Unplugged.

A portrait of Hooper, unplugged: hair out of his (yes, HE’s a boy) eyes, breakfast still on his face, a wheel from the truck he’s thrown on the floor one too many times and a plastic hammer tucked in his pull-up (aka his “tool belt”)… Because life {unplugged} is messy, but at least he can see clearly.
You can check out the image I chose this month for the Childhood Unplugged series by clicking here. And you can see other posts in this series by clicking here.
Also, check out Childhood Unplugged on facebook and play along on Instagram by tagging your unplugged kiddo moments with #childhoodunplugged.
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The Pumpkin Patch

I’m tellin’ y’all, if I could have taken the kids to a Christmas tree lot before my surgery, I would have. As luck would have it, our favorite pumpkin patch opened its doors a few weeks before my surgery. We took the kids on a weekday and practically had the place to ourselves. We rode the ponies, pet the goats and sheep, ran down aisle after aisle of big round pumpkins, and came home with some fresh picked strawberries.
Wishing everyone a Happy Halloween.

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Brothers

Hooper, you’ve taken to holding Van’s hand and leading him around. I’m not gonna lie, I couldn’t wait for Van to walk for the pure joy of watching you walk side by side. It really is a beautiful thing.
When you’re not holding hands, you two are at each other constantly. Hooper, you’re lucky you’re still bigger than your soon-to-be little-big-bro because one of these days he’s going to tackle you. And I may even pretend not to see. You can be so mean at times; biting him, grabbing his arm with all your might (note photo above with your teeth clinched n’ all), pushing him (especially from behind when he has no idea it’s coming), and taking every toy away that he manages to get his hands on. Some days it’s just easier to put on Curious George so we can all have a moment of peace.
Van, you copy everything Hooper does. If he’s fixing his wheel with a hammer, as soon as you can get that hammer, you’ll bend down and mimic exactly what Hooper was doing. You really idolize your big brother and take so much pride in doing the things he does.
Hooper, you like to “help” wash Van in the bathtub. This consists of rubbing soap on his back and dumping water on his head. It’s really a big “help”.
Hooper, you love to hold Van’s cheeks in your hands and say “ca-uuuuut”. You also enjoy giving him a hug and a kiss every night before bed.

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The weekend before

The final days before my surgery felt like a mad-dash. You know the feeling, right? Like I had to squeeze in all I could, filling every crevice of time with something real, something meaningful. My surgery had been weighing on my mind so heavily that I really hadn’t anticipated life after recovery, my brain frozen in time, my calendar cleared with the words “recovery” written in month after month.
So we celebrated my dad and sister’s birthday early, down in Ventura. It was a warm October day, the time of year when the Santa Susana winds howl wildly and the air feels like someone with hot breath is breathing on you. My sister and I took the kids down to the water’s edge where Hooper made cakes out of sand and Van gave himself a sand beard.
And as the last of the light shined in I realized another day had passed and that meant my surgery would be another day closer. The impending feeling of doom, the ambiguity of what would be, all the uncertainty made better only by the company of family and
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the warmth of the sun.

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An Interview // Hooper & Van

My dad used to ask my sister and I questions when we were younger and record them on a cassette tape. I remember it distinctly because I was around 14 or so and questions like who I had a crush on was beginning to embarass me. He doesn’t have any recollection of where these tapes are but someday, when I have the time, I’d like to dig through his drawers for that buried treasure.
My dear Hooper & Van, I hope one day you look back on these and chuckle. I love you like you’d never believe.
You can check out other videos by clicking here.

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Hooper @ 34 Months

Growth & Appearance: You have little blond hair on your legs that cute me out every time I take notice of them.
You seem to have gone through a growth spurt and have longer legs than I remember you having just last month.
Your hair is constantly in your face. We’ve tried putting some gel in so that it’s tucked off to the side but that only seems to work for a short while. Still waiting on it to be long enough to tuck behind your ears. 
Eating: Feeding you isn’t the pain in the ass that it used to be. Mealtimes are much quicker and relatively painless these days. You’re still hesitant about trying new things, but with encouragement and/or threats, you will give something new a try. You eat whatever we’re eating for dinner every night and without much fuss. In fact, for the first time ever, you’re requesting snacks. I think you must be going through a growth spurt. I will, however, say that you often spit your food out, declaring a bite “too big”, which is annoying. We’re also still having to feed you the majority of the time because you just aren’t interested otherwise. If we left it up to you, we’d be at the table all day long with a full plate of food.
You give what we call “dinner hugs” every night at dinner, but mostly only to me. I love it.
You like to pretend to bring us food and after giving us the piece of paper you refer to as a “donut” you ask, “nuff?”, to which I always reply “no”, and you bring me more. 
Sleeping: Some days you nap, other days you don’t. It’s quite obvious when you need a wee little rest but even then, at times, you fight it. More times than not, it depends on what you did the day before.
Here’s your schedule: Wake up between 8:30 and 9, nap around 4 for an hour or two, bed around 9. Talking: You still talk like Curious George a lot, using grunts and groans with different emphasis to get your point or your question across. I refuse to put Curious George on anymore. You’ve been learning about the alphabet instead, and surprisingly, you’re into it. Typical first born, I suppose.
Funny things you say:
“Mama hold you” (mama hold me)
“Mama see dat?” (mama did you see that?)
“Put brodder HERE” (said with awkward pauses between each word and with odd emphasis on the “here”)
“Have uh ______” (insert: snack, hug, tiss-U… said when you want something)Development: You must know you’re on the brink of turning three because you’re behavior has been pushing the limits. You’ve developed a love for spitting and nearly landed a wad of saliva on the hostess when we went out to dinner. You spit right in Papa’s face the other day as well. You also like throwing things. The other day you were throwing your cars wildly up into the air just to see where they would land. You’re a spitting wrecking ball.
You know the difference between a nickel, dime, and penny, and you love putting coins into your bank and them shaking them until they fall out the bottom.
You’ve been jumping everywhere. It’s hard to get a decent picture of you anymore because your head is always bobbing up and down.
You like to count to three by saying, “one two two fee”.
You’re more into pretend. You have, what resembles, real conversations on your pretend telephone. You also like to tuck your blanket between your legs and pretend to have a tail. And in the bath you make “cake” out of the soap suds.
You’re still learning how to be nice and how to share. You aren’t always the best playdate on the block; you’ve been known to hit or push people you call your friends. By the same token, you love to give hugs and kisses so there is something sweet deep down in that little big soul of yours. You also love babies and are very gentle with them.
You like painting and coloring. You mostly use your left hand, but occasionally your right as well.
Potty training: you rarely have accidents with #1. You like doing #2, however, in the comfort of your own room with the light off during nap time. I take you to the potty every day before your nap and, without fail, I close the door after I put you down and hear you grunting on the other side. Twenty minutes later your at your door telling me you made ca-ca.
You come up to me with your head down, chin to your chest, shoulders slumped, and proclaim “sad”. I scoop you up into my arms, give you a hug, and then you want down and return to what you were doing with energy I only wish I could match. I think you’re learning what different emotions are. I’ve been telling you that it’s okay to be sad, but I don’t really believe you’re sad.
You like things in their place. For example, if one of your dresser drawers is not all the way shut, you shut it. It amazes me that you even notice.
On any given day, you can be found with your tool belt on underneath the kitchen table with your hammer and flat head “fixing” the table. The table is not broken, fyi. Favorites: You still love your cars and play / line them up every day. You like to link them together or stack blocks in the beds of the pickup trucks and ask for “help pweez” when they don’t connect correctly or when you can’t get the blocks to balance just right. You also like playing outside with the hose but hate when the water is turned on you. You love your new toy tool set that Papa bought for you and pretend to fix things all day long, especially the wheels on your cars.
You love Thomas the Train and get mad at us when we call the trains by their wrong name, something we do intentionally because we’re cuted out that you know each and every one of them. Still, I hate TV.

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Hooper @ 33 Months

Growth & Appearance: Your hair has become downright ridiculous. We struggle keeping it out of your eyes. We’re constantly deciding between growing it out so you can put it behind your ears and shaving it completely. We’re leaning toward the latter simply because you have a thousand little baby hairs that have yet to grow and we’re thinking it needs a clean sweep to get the ball rolling.
Your skin is a bit darkened, compliments of warm summer kisses from the sun.
Eating: I let out a big sigh and an exaggerated eye roll every time I come to this category. I am starting to sell myself on the idea, however, that your behavior is more typical toddler and less of a psycho tyrant intentionally trying to starve himself. Not every meal is a struggle, but the ones that are linger around like the stench of sulfur in a natural hot springs. We’ve succumb to doing what works and if others want to judge us for throwing on Curious George to get you to sit still, I’ve got a big middle finger to wave in their direction. Sometimes it’s just a matter of keeping the peace, and all in all, meals have been more peaceful. Dinner is always the hardest. We do a lot of counting to five with threats of five equating to a time out. It works.
You’ve been eating a lot at breakfast as of late. This morning, for example, you ate half a banana (I mix it in your oatmeal because you won’t eat banana by itself), a bowl of oatmeal, half of a greek yogurt, half of a whole wheat eggo, and a glass of milk. And it only took ten minutes.
We no longer make you your own meal for dinner. You eat what we eat and voila, life is easier. And, by golly, turns out you do like a lot of what us big kids are eating. Maybe one day you’ll appreciate the fact your Papa is a good cook.
You hate when food falls on your lap and insist on having one of us clean you up. Dirt, on the other hand, doesn’t bother you.
Sleeping: At one time, you were the champion napper. Nowadays, naps are hit or miss. And to be honest, it was partially our doing. It’s so much nicer to not live life around a nap schedule. You can get through the day without napping and still handle yourself like a normal human being, most of the the time anyway. And putting you to bed a little bit earlier isn’t too shabby either. With that said, some days you do still nap. Other days you simply play quietly in your room with the door closed until you poop your pants and try to get out. And then other days you sleep like a baby and I have to go in and wake you up because napping the entire day away just doesn’t work.
On a typical day, you wake up around 8:30am and go to bed around 8:30 or 9pm.
Every night you play “magic hand”. This is when your Papa is putting you in your jam jams and your hand has yet to pop through the sleeve and we all look mysteriously around for your missing hand. Then you pop it through with the sliest look on your face and yell, “magic hand!”. Every night you think you have the coolest show in town.
Talking: You say everything. You still have quite the lisp with your S’s. And despite having known your colors just a few months ago, now everything is green.
When we’re out and about, sometimes you’ll request to go “back home”.
We can no longer hide the fact you watch a lot of Curious George because all of the sudden you’re talking like George and your vocabulary consists of various “eeeehh” and “aaaahhhh” accompainied by points and cackles. It’s the first time you’ve ever annoyed me.
The other day you were walking backwards in the front yard and walked right into a pile of dirt and said, “shit”. I ignore it every time because I think no attention is better than negative attention. We really need to stop using four letter words around here.
You are very polite and say “shanks” (thanks) often and appropriately.
Development: I love watching how concepts mature. The other day, for example, you told me your toy car was too hot to sit on and you asked me to blow on it to cool it down.
You’re the shy kid on the playground. It takes you a while to venture off on your own and more times than not, you’re right there by my side… or pulling my arm to where you want to go. You’re intrigued by other kids that are playing and every now and again you’ll approach them with a gregarious “hello!” but your nature is definitely cautious and reserved.
You’re scared of a toy fire engine outside of a restaurant we go to. It’s one of those cars you put a fifty cents in and it rocks back and forth with it’s siren blaring. You hate it and refuse to go in it, though you love to ride the boat right next to it.
Sarah is your best bud. You love her. It’s become your daily responsibility to feed her and you love carrying her bowl over to the food closet, filling her bowl one painful quarter filled cup at a time, and leading Sarah over to her bowl to show her you put food in it. The other day you saw Sarah sleeping in her bed and proceeded to close the door to the room, turn off the light, and say “sweet dreams Gonz” (“Gonz” is Sarah’s nickname). You also like grabbing her by her collar and leading her around the house. You shower her with random kisses and hugs throughout the day, ever day. Your love for her is very genuine and sweet.
You insist we kiss your bo-bos. You kiss ours too.
You love babies and you’re very good around them. You like to “pet them” and kiss them and shower them with attention. You’re demeanor, in general (baby or no baby), is sweet and kind. You’ll sacrifice getting your way to make someone else happy… well, some of the time anyway. But the fact you do it at all sure means something. And you love positive reinforcement. You’re the kid that’s looking over his shoulder right after you gave your toy to another kid to see who saw and make sure they acknowledge your kind deed.
You play doctor. The other day you were sitting at the desk in your room with your toy stethoscope around your neck while writing on a piece of paper. Then you’d stand up on your chair to answer the phone and when we asked what you were doing, you said “werkin”. You refer to yourself by the name of your pediatrician often.
You’re all boy. You’re constantly in the tool drawer and love to pretend to fix things. You also like to take the tape measure and go around and pretend to measure things.
We’re fairly certain you are left handed. You definitely write left handed and eat with your left hand. You throw with both, so I guess the jury is still out.
Favorites: Cars, cars, cars. That’s your go to, your every day. You like trucks and tractors and, really, anything that has wheels. The other day I bought you a toy forklift and when we got home, I threw on a youtube video to show you what a forklift was. It was a training module and you watched the whole thing as if it were, well, Curious George. I, on the other hand, wanted to fall asleep because, um hello, forklifts?!
You also like throwing rocks; especially at the house. You also like putting things in the toilet and flushing it. I’ve caught a toy snake and a rubber turtle on the way down. Thanks for that. Pee on my hand is always refreshing. Hash tag: Why you shouldn’t let yellow mellow.

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The Perfect Ending

You can’t always get what you want, but in the end you get what you need.
I spent the first days after stopping breastfeeding mopping around, declaring myself to be in “a funk”; Unable to enjoy things that normally excited me, unable to be truly present to my children. I’m writing this in past tense because I didn’t feel like writing anything but dark, sad, moppy posts like this just a few weeks ago when all the tears were streaming down my I’m-so-sad-I’m-done-breastfeeding face.
Willy and I had been looking forward to this weekend for a long time. We had tickets to see Willie Nelson at the Hollywood Bowl and plans to leave the kids at my parents for the entire night. But I just couldn’t seem to shake the post-breastfeeding-blues.
I can’t tell you when the change occurred but what I can tell you is that Willie Nelson played his Stardust album from front to back and it was beautiful. There really is nothing better for the soul than music, in my opinion. We woke up the next morning and went to the Rose Bowl Flea Market by ourselves and in the absence of the munchkins, we got to dig through buried treasures and stroll leisurely through the aisles. We picked up the kids in the afternoon and went to the Ventura County Fair. We rode rides, pet goats, ate chocolate covered Twinkies. And when we got home and put the kids to bed, Willy and I climbed up on the roof and laid there under the stars to watch the meteor shower.
And, just like that, my funk disappeared. It only took a country phenom, some time with my main squeeze, a ferris wheel, and a sea full of falling stars to shake it. But alas, I shook it.
Then again, it was probably that chocolate covered twinkie because, um, hello they don’t even make Twinkies even more. Hash tag: deadstock. Oh ya, and I didn’t have to worry about breastfeeding. That was nice.
Oh ya, and you see that little San Francisco shirt Hooper has on? It’s something I bought when I lived in SF years ago, before I knew my husband as my husband… when I had only dreams of motherhood. And seeing my first born in it now not only makes me one happy Mama, but also puts things in perspective. Life is good.

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Brothers

Van, you scoot a lot faster when Hooper’s bottle is within sight. Hooper, you know your brother is fond of your cup. I watched the other day as you moved your cup close enough for Van to reach, waited for him to put his hands on it, at-which-point you grabbed the cup and ran away.
You were both playing with door. Van, you put your hand down on the ground and, Hooper, you proceeded to close the door over Van’s hand on purpose.
Van, you love grabbing Hooper’s hair. We’ve found a screaming toddler only to look down and discover a fistful of blond locks in your grimmy hand. You can be kinda aggressive.
Van, you love to make your way to Hooper’s room every night as Papa gets Hooper ready for bed. Hooper, each night as you put on your pajamas and brush your teeth, your brother is sitting in the doorway, watching. He idolizes your world.
Hooper, we played airplane the other day and with your chest resting on the bottoms of my feet high up in the air, you waved to your brother who was below, “Hi brodher”.
In general, you two are quite fond of each other and play well together most of the time.
You two are my world,
Mama
Side note: I’ll be announcing the winner to the Little Flourishes giveaway on Monday!

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Portraits of my children

“the child must
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know that he is a miracle, that since the beginning of the world there hasn’t been, and until the end of the world there will not be, another child like him” – pablo casals

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