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.
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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the things he can collect. Hashtag: things you can learn from a toddler.
Slow down, Mamas, and enjoy the ride. I don’t walk so close behind him anymore.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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?
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
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.
Thanks for your support.
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.
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.
Portraits of my children
“Promise me you’ll always remember: you are braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think”
-Christopher Robin to Pooh Bear
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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