Hooper @ 3.4

Growth & Appearance: Your eyes are without a doubt hazel, but can easily be confused for brown. You have the same eye color as both of your g’mas. You’re getting taller and taller and lankier and lankier. Your hair is in your eyes constantly and we’ve decided to grow it out once and for all. Otherwise you’d be at the hairdressers every month. Your knees are scabbed often and you refuse to stop licking around your mouth so it is red and chapped.  
You wear a size 8 shoe, size 3T clothes. 
Eating: Your eating has gotten better and better. You’re more willing to try new things and mealtime is peaceful and easy most every night. When you don’t want to eat something, however, you say it makes you sick. It goes like this, “Hooper, wanna try some of Mama’s fish?”, to-which-you-say, “Fish make me sick, Mama”. But more times than not, you’ll eat whatever we are eating.
You like to steal sweets off the counter and hide under the kitchen table or the desk in the office and eat them.
You state your favorite food is “french fries”.  
Sleeping: You like to take a toy with you to sleep these days. Actually, more times than not, you take a book. And when you wake up in the morning, whatever toy or book you brought into bed with you is in your hand.
You refer to your top bunk as your “firehouse” and like to take an odd mish-mosh of stuff up there; the other day I removed a paint roller, a dvd, and a ton of books… all things you said you needed for your firehouse.
You don’t nap everyday, but when you do it’s around 4pm and we wake you up – if you don’t wake up on your own – around 6:30. You’re waking up a bit earlier these days, sometime in the 7 o’clock hour. You go to bed around 8:30.   
Talking: You tell me you love me at least twenty times a day. Sometimes I’ll get three I love you’s before you even get out of bed in the morning. You have a big heart and love expressing what makes you happy.
When I pick you up from preschool, you spend the entire 10 minute drive home repeating, “Mama always come back” (this is what your teachers reinforce at school).
You call us out for grabbing your butt. I think your teachers at school must tell you that it’s not okay for anyone to touch your privates, which is great, except that I like grabbing me some tush. The other day, you told me to “stop touching my ca-ca”. Apparently you think part of your butt falls off every time you poop because ca-ca has become synonymous with butt in your mind.
You started grabbing your balls the other day when you were going potty and asked me, “Waz dis Mama?”.
You call anything with a siren a “fire truck”, including the Time Warner Cable vans that have the one honky little round siren on top as well as the DWP trucks, the parking enforcement vehicles, and the utility vans.
You often ask what things are only for me to tell you and you, in turn, insist that I’m wrong. Like when you pointed to an RV, asked what it was, and then argued with me insisting that it was not an RV but instead a “baby bus”. You used to get very angry when I told you an ambulance was an ambulance and not a “baby fire truck”. Now you call them “ah-un-ence”. It’s one of my favorite words of yours.
When you hear me scold Van you like to take it upon yourself and implement whatever punishment you think he deserves. You refer to yourself as the “po-ese-man” (policeman) and I have to remind you often that Mama’s in charge.
You made up your own word, “wolf-uh-dyha”. We interpret it to be synonymous with YOLO. For example, we’ll say, “Hooper, no more hitting your brother” and you’ll respond with, “wolf-uh-dyha”. Or when I ask you, “Hooper, why are you taking your pants off?” and you respond with, “wolf-uh-dyha”.
You often ask, “Waz dat?”. Then I answer by telling you it’s a street cleaner truck (or whatever it is) and you always, as in every time, follow it with an “Uh huh, I like street queener truck” (or whatever it is that’s identified).
You use the word “real” in lots of funny ways. Like when I asked you if I could sleep in your bunk bed with you and you replied, “no Mama, you real too big” or when I told you we need to get ready to go and you told me you’re “real too busy”.
You refer to your toy wrench as a “dog ferner” and when we ask you what a “dog ferner” is, you told us it “picks up dog and down”.
You pointed out a taxi the other day and went on to say that “taxi make me happy, Mama”.
When you don’t want to do something, you refer to whatever it is as something that’s going to “make me sad”. Like when I say it’s time to go to the store and you say, “No Mama, make me sad”.
You refer to picking your nose as “queening” (aka cleaning) your nose. You “clean” your nose several times an hour. I caught you once wiping your boogers underneath the table. When I asked you about it, you replied by saying, “I keep my boogers safe”.
We can no longer have discussions between the two of us without you listening in. The other day I told Papa that you seemed tired and that I thought you needed a nap. Normally you wouldn’t respond to a conversation you were not involved in, but this time you quickly got up and said, “no, not tired Mama. No nap”. The same thing happened the other day when I was listening to the morning radio and the hosts were talking about some guy who was hoped up on goofballs (aka pills). You started laughing and proceeded to refer to your “g’ma Bic” (who was not in the car) as a goofball.
You use your hands a lot when you talk, like holding the palms of your hands up to the sky when saying you “don’t know”.  
Development:
You’re still big into the world of make believe. You would refer to Sarah as your “fire dog” (gah that hurts to have to change to past tense) and are completely obsessed with being a firemen. You love to watch the steam poor out from the side of the house when I’m doing laundry, throw your fireman hat on, and go out and “fight” the “fire”. You refer to yourself as “Norman Price” (a character on fireman Sam) constantly. You also like to pretend you get stuck, like on the top of the sofa, and yell for fireman Sam to come rescue you. You have a “fire chief” jacket at your Nina and Geepaws house that you wear the majority of the time you’re there.
Your idea of paper airplanes involves crinkling a piece of paper and throwing it into the air.
You’re sweet and sincere. You apologize for things that are clearly not your fault. Like the other day when I dropped something and you apologized for it. Or the other day when Van threw a toy in the toilet and you apologized for it. Or when you threw up all over the bathroom floor and continuously thanked me as I cleaned it all up. One morning you woke up with poo in your pull-up (which is so rare these days) and you thanked me for cleaning your butt. You also thank me for picking up your toys. You say “bless you” even if I sneeze from the other room. Your teachers at school describe you as being very sweet… except for when you’re not and on those days I’m told about your pushing / throwing / hitting antics. But those days are few and far between.
You can hop on one foot and have general knowledge of the game “hop scotch”.
You still threaten to pee on me every time you go to the potty. Actually it’s not so much as a threat as it is an expressed desire. You’re clearly eager to pee on things and put that little hose of yours to the test.
You have a new affinity for monsters. You like to go on hunts for monsters and when you come across a dark area or a large crack in the ground, you like to pretend there is a monster hiding there. You love the book “There’s a Nightmare in my Closet”.
You remind us that we need to cover our mouths when we cough.       
Favorites: You LOVE this claymation show called “fireman Sam”. You love all things fireman related, really. You also love watching real life youtube videos of garbage trucks or construction sites. You love Sarah; You love hugging her and kissing her and cuddling her and when she’s not in the room, you ask where she is. You refer to her as “my doggy”. (And I’m not even going to change that last part to the past tense now that Sarah is no longer with us, because I had written this before her untimely death and I can’t stand to change it.)

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Brothers

There was a point in time, mostly around the holidays, that you guys could not keep your hands off one another. I think a lot of it, in hindsight, had to do with all the gifts and new toys. Too many things to fight over. Hooper, you liked to do this drop kick maneuver that inevitably ended with you on top of Van. You guys were at each other non-stop; biting, pushing, shoving, toy-stealing, hair pulling… it seemed ending. You both had battle wounds to show for it; bite marks, bruises, and even some missing tufts of hair. The last few weeks, however, have been much smoother and you guys actually seem to be enjoying one another.  
Van, you get jealous when Hooper and I cuddle. You also do not like sharing my lap with Hooper when I read you guys a book.  
You like to “cheers” your cups together, Van more so than Hooper.  
You have screaming contests. It’s awesome when you do this in public.
Hooper, you see it as your duty to reprimand Van. When I tell Van to stop or scold him, you are quick to jump in and hit him.
Van, your defense is pulling Hooper’s hair. I’ve considered shaving Hooper’s head because it looks so painful.  
Every now and again, I’ll catch you guys playing in a room peacefully. My heart practically beats out of my chest when I overhear you, Hooper, teaching your brother something or directing him in some way or another. More and more you guys are becoming friends and it’s a beautiful thing to watch unfold. There are even times, as shown above, that you even  – dare I say – console your little brother.

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Malibu Creek

Oh there is something to be said for allowing time for boys to be boys. Skipping rocks, collecting sticks, dirt under the nails… it’s all part of childhood and it’s such a beautiful thing. I still need help getting the boys to and fro, but

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regardless, it’s been so nice to be feeling better and getting out a little bit more. I feel as though I’ve been hiding under a rock for the last few months and I much prefer skipping rocks into the creek instead.

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Riding on bikes with boys

Have you ever rode a bike with a toddler? I remember my mom declaring that her back was never the same after teaching us to ride our bikes. We’re not there yet with Hoop; we’re still in the training wheel phase. But, in some ways, it’s equally torturous.
“What’s that, Mama?”
He stops riding and I practically walk in to his back tire cuz I’m riding his ass.
“Sounds like some sirens off in the distance”.
“I want to see”, he says.
“Sounds like they’re gone”, and we re-mount and ride along. I ride his ass because he’s going slow.
“Wook-at-dat, Mama!”
We stop to pick some dandelions. He sniffs them and there is yellow pollen that makes a Hitler-like mustache under his nose.
Re-mount. Ride his tail.
A few yards later, we stop again. This time, we pick up sticks. Then some acorns. I answer ten more questions about the various sounds he hears.
It’s so easy to get stuck in A to B mode. When he asks to go on a bike ride, which he does daily these days, I think about leaving the house, the route we’ll take, and how that route will lead us back to the house. His mind, in it’s beautiful infancy, works much different; it’s all about the space between… The sights, the sounds,

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Slow down, Mamas, and enjoy the ride. I don’t walk so close behind him anymore.

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Hooper @ 3.2 years

Growth & Appearance: You’ve grown taller and when you’re in shorts you can see just how long and skinny your little legs are. The weather has been windy and you’ve developed a horrible habit of licking around your mouth, resulting in redness and chapped skin. You look like you’ve just finished eating spaghetti with marinara sauce, always. You’re more inclined to wearing hats and you look adorable in the one hat we did buy you.
You’re wearing size 3T clothes and are in size 8 shoes.
 
Eating: You hate being messy and oftentimes prefer your Papa or I feeding you to avoid having to touch your food or potentially spill on yourself. Really though, I think you’re just not that interested in what you’re eating. You have no problem getting your hands dirty with french fry grease. You can still be a pain in the ass from time to time but the table is a far cry from the battlefield it used to be. We’ve all learned how to peacefully go on and we’ve let go of a lot of the distraction techniques we used to use (ie, TV during dinner).
You love bread, eggo waffles, yogurt covered raisins, bacon, pasta (you love carbs, in general), and lately, carrots. Despite these favorites, you do eat rather healthy. We rarely allow you to eat pure junk. Things like french fries are a rare treat.
The other day I caught you hiding behind the door in the office, eating banana bread with the sliest grin on your face. 
Sleeping: Naps are a rarity. Every now and then we can tell you need one and – sometimes – you’ll take one. You’ve been getting up earlier, around 7:30, which feels like a drastic difference to the days you’d sleep until 8:30. With that said, you sleep through the night with ease.
We bought you bunk beds with intentions of moving your brother in with you. You sleep on the top bunk and love it.

Talking: You say whatever you are thinking and ask about every noise or new thing you see.
Favorite sayings:
“Sorry ’bout dat Mama” (said after that time you hit me, while driving, in the back of the head with a stick)
“Waffo ready” (every time the toaster pops up, regardless of what’s in it)
“Waz dat?” (constant, these days)
“I want to hit Van” (gotta love honesty)
“Going?” (where are we going?)
“Baby fire truck” (aka ambulance)
Development: I took you to your first movie, “Walking with Dinosaurs”. It was about an hour and a half long and I came prepared with snacks to hold your attention. At one point, after getting up and down like a little whack-a-mole a thousand times, you said to me “go home, mama”. The movie sucked anyway, so I asked you to pick my purse up off the floor (I’m still on bending restrictions). You picked it up from the bottom, the contents spilling all over the place. We had to stick it out until the end when the lights came on. I retrieved my lip stick under the seats in the first aisle. It’ll be a while before I take you again.
You can ride your bike, with ease, with training wheels. We duct taped your feet to the wheels to get you started because you refused to use the pedals initially. Within seconds after removing the duct tape, you were off. You ask to go for bike rides numerous times throughout the day.
You still write with your left hand and ride your scooter with your left foot, but throw with your right hand.
You stopped sucking your two fingers a few months ago and it kinda breaks your Papa and I’s heart.
You love picking your nose and eating it.
You’re full blown potty trained and able to pull down your own pants. You lift up your ding-a-ling and threaten to pee on me often. When I tell you “no”, you proceed to point it toward the bathtub or sink or wall or trash and ask if you can pee on these things instead. The answer is the same. You prefer to crap at home.
You started preschool in the beginning of December and seem to enjoy it minus a few long faces when your Papa or I leave.
You like going on adventures, but often ask “going home?” at some point.
You love to play pretend. You’ve been a cat a lot lately and meow a lot. You ask to be pet and call your hands your paws. You also like to make pretend meals with your fake food. You also wear your cowboy boots and refer to them as your “firemen boots”.
You’re a bit bossy and seem to think you’re in charge at times. You tell us often to “stop it” and also feel as though it’s your own duty to scold Van. 
Favorites: You watched the Wizard of Oz and loved it. You love playing the “get me” game. You love cars and trucks and asked Santa for a “big truck” for Christmas. He delivered. You could watch videos of trackers on YouTube all day long. I’ve added things like excavator, impact hammer, and digger to my daily vocabulary. You also love playing “mailman”, where you go around the house delivering “packages”. You love cats and collecting coins and making piles of sticks.

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My Everyday

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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 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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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.
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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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