Love Letter: Month Thirty-five

Dear Tradd and Jackson,
A few days ago you turned thirty-five months old. Don't worry...I never say it in months when people ask me because I know it would sound kind of freakish, I always round up to three. Three years old sounds so old compared to thirty-five months. It's weird that parents do this. Before I had you I never understood why parents spoke in months..."How old is your baby?"..."Oh, he's 16 months old." And there I would stand counting on my fingers trying to figure out how old the kid was. To be honest, I found it quite annoying...until I too became a month counter. Funny the things we say we will never do until....well, we do.

Your little brains have been working overtime for the past few months. You are trying to create conversations and are very determined to "Do myself, Mama!" I am also amazed at your memories. We will do something one time and a few weeks later something will come up in one of your conversations and you go right back to it like it just happened yesterday. I hope that stays with you because I do not remember much about my childhood. I have these little pockets in my mind that are very vivid, but it often takes someone reminding about a popular toy or TV show to jog me. It's funny because when I was growing up, everyday I thought about being a Mommy and now that I am one, everyday I think about being a kid.

One of the things that I've been thinking a lot about lately is what you will remember about your childhood. Will you remember that our house was spotless? Will you remember that dishes never piled up in our sink? No...you will remember your daddy wrestling with you on the floor of your bedroom and playing puzzles with mama on the kitchen floor. You will remember saying the blessing together at our table holding hands and building tents out of bed sheets. One of the hardest things about being home with you is giving myself permission to just BE with you. One day, when you both leave for college, I will sit in a house with spit-shined floors and clean dishes and wish for hand prints on the windows and dried food on the table. I will have plenty of time for a perfect house...now I just want a perfectly happy one.





Scene: Tradd lays naked on the changing table as I prepare to diaper him and put on his jammies. His tiny hand rests "down there"....

Tradd: Mom, my nut.

Me: Your what?

Tradd: MY NUT (Louder and with great expression)

Me: Son, that's your testicle.

Tradd: No. It's my nut, Mom.

Me: Ok...just don't touch it.

These are the conversations I have to have...
and they are 3.
Folk, this is going to get interesting.


Snow Day

Homemade Chicken Noodle Soup.
Long Nap.
A perfect day.


A "short" Walk Down Memory Lane

Well, after two years, I finally did it. I ordered pictures of the boys off Shutterfly. I know you are thinking, "Big deal", but I need you to realize that these are the first pictures I have EVER ordered. EVER. This is how pathetic I am...and I only felt the pressure because Shutterfly was going to cancel my 600+ prepaid pictures if I didn't order before February. So 418 pictures later and I have only gotten through May of 2007. It's not looking good.

Anyhoo, the point in me telling you this is that after I had the pictures arranged in the photo album the four of us sat down on the couch and walked the boys through their short little lives. Here are a few of their responses...

"Look at that sweet baby"

"That's me, Mama?" (To which I said yes to both boys because I truly can't tell)

"Daddy holds me, Mama?"

"Where's me?"

As I sat on the couch between my two precious boys, I thought of how many times we will look at these pictures before they have children of their own. And how one day I will be showing this same book to their wives and children. And by then the walk down memory lane will be wonderfully long.