Monthly Update: 25

Dear Foster,

Today is President's Day and you are 25 months old.

I thought I  might stop updating this blog every month now that you're two, because usually a child's development starts to slow then.  I mean, you're walking and talking.  What else is there to say, right? 

Wrong.

I could write a blog each day just about the stuff that comes out of your mouth!

For instance, the way you say truck.  KOO-WA.  It used to be GOO-WA, so you've developed the "k" sound, and sometimes it even comes out, KOO-WAK. 

You're getting warmer.

Then there's, BOO-TEES, which is what you call my breasts and anything having to do with them.  Boobs are BOO-TEES.  Bras are BOO-TEES.  Even panties are BOO-TEES.

While I'm on the subject of private parts, you are very interested in yours, and in who has and hasn't got one.

"Dada has penis?"

That's right, Foster, Daddy has a penis.

"Mama has penis?"

No, Mama doesn't have a penis.  Only boys have a penis.  Mama is a girl.

"Boys has penis."

That's right, all boys have a penis.

Thankfully, no one other than me and your daddy are ever brought up in this conversation.  But, if Grandma was, she would be BA-WA, a variation of BA-BOO-WA, which is what you used to call her.  And, Grandpa has evolved into PA-PA.

Another obsession you have is who has shoes on and who doesn't, and what has wheels and what doesn't.  I have no idea why shoes and wheels are so interesting.  They just are.

"Super Why has shoes on."  "Dada has shoes on."  "Mama has shoes off."  "Me shoes off."

"That's right, Bud, Super Why has blue shoes on.  Daddy has to wear shoes to work.  Mama's bare foot.  Do you want your shoes off too?

"Airplane has wheels."  "Heater has wheels."  "Table has wheels."

Yes, airplanes do have wheels.  They go fast when the airplane is on the ground.  You can't see them now because the airplane is flying up in the sky...

It's exhausting keeping up with you.  Just as we're in the middle of explaining the wheels on an airplane, the little wheels in your head start to turn and you're on to the next thing...

"Airplane big.  It gone be loud!"

You get the "gone be" honestly.  That's my southern twang coming out.  The southern twang I will deny until the day I die.  I'm from Florida.  I DO NOT have a southern accent.  I just happen to say things short-hand like.

Be careful, it's gone be hot.

Or, maybe it's a Yankee accent I've got.  Sometimes you sound like a Kennedy.

Foster, where's your cup?

"O-BA-DAY-A"

What's on your head?

"HE-A"

Say ear.

"EE-A"

Or, maybe it's a Chinese accent I picked up while in China a few years ago that's rubbed off on you.

"I-TAN-SEE-SANG!"

Interpreted, "I can't see anything!"

Southern, Yankee or Chinese, none of those describe the way you're saying words that begin with "s".

You used to say, S-NO, for snow.  And, S-MALL for small.  But now you scrunch your nose and blow snot out while saying SNOW and SMALL.  I don't think that's something you've picked up from me or your daddy.  But once gain, you're getting warmer.

Keeping you warm this winter has been an issue.  We have a portable heater in your room (you know, the one that has wheels!) and earlier this week you said it was scary.

"My room carry."

Huh?  What'd you say?

"My room CARRY!"

Your room is scary?  Where'd you learn that word?

"Heater CARRY!"

Your heater's not scary!

"Heater have eyes!"

Your heater does not have eyes!

Honestly, Foster, where do you come up with this stuff?

You've been wearing a "SleepSack" to bed since birth.  It's basically a zip up sleeping bag.  No sleeves.  A wearable blanket, if you will.  To keep you warm while you sleep, since you won't keep a blanket on.

(No, not a Snuggie.  A SleepSack.)

But, since you've learned how to unzip things, this is the first thing to be thrown out of your crib.  Sometimes the only thing. 

Your daddy thinks you're doing it on purpose.  To show us who's in charge.  But I know better.  You're just expressing your independence.  Your creativity.

That's why as soon as we leave the room for you to go to sleep, you stand up, unzip your SleepSack and toss it overboard.  Sometimes you proceed to toss every stuffed animal out too.  Ending with Bear-Bear.  And, you know what happens when you've realized Bear-Bear got caught up in the fray, don't you? 

That's right, you start calling and crying for me.  And, as soon as I walk in, you're all "Where Bear-Bear go?"  Shoulders shrugging and everything. 

As if.

Anyway, once I've got all your friends picked up and back in your crib, I put your SleepSack back on and that's the end of that.  You go right to sleep.

You've only been two for a month, but you're already asking, what we call in the field of child development, "W-H questions".

"Hey, what's that, Mama?" 

"Hey, what's those?"

"Where Bear-Bear go?"

Your daddy's favorite is, "Hey, what's that noise?" 

And now, he walks around the house all day knocking on walls, doors, windows, anything, just to hear you say it.

I'm not sure what the child development term is for saying "hey" prior to every question, but it sure is cute!

The other day, as we were eating dinner, you reached up to your eyes and said, "I want more eyelashes."

You want more eyelashes?

"I want more eyelashes."

I just looked at your daddy and shrugged.  I mean, what are we supposed to say to that?

First of all, you're two.  What two year old even knows they have eye-lashes?

Secondly, you're a boy.  (Never mind, I'm not going there.)

Your Uncle Steve came for a short visit this month and you really enjoyed his company.  What with going on dinosaur hunts and riding the horsey down to town.

Then you got sick, and as I write this, you have had a fever for four days.  It's a low grade fever, otherwise you'd be at the doctor's office.  But, I'd like to see if you can shake whatever-this-is on your own, without an antibiotic.  You did read the last update, didn't you?

Despite being sick, you can still be a turd.  Today, for instance, I cleaned up not one, not two, but three messes!  Not just any mess, mind you, but FOOD ON THE FLOOR messes.

I can handle the usual messes.  Toys scattered across the floor.  Sticky hands.  Runny nose.  Accidentally dropped forks.  But, we have been over and over and over this.  And you've gotten at least that many spankings.  Throwing and/or squishing food on the floor is not acceptable.  Fever or no fever.

So yeah, just prior to your nap today, you got another spanking.  Happy 25th month birthday to you, right?

It's no picnic for me either, bud.  In fact, the mommy guilt is so overwhelming that I wrote about it on my blog.  And, guess what?  It didn't help.

The only thing that will help, I'm afraid, is a good cuddle with you when you wake up from your nap.  Oh, and maybe for your fever to go away.  Yes.  That would help us all.

xoxo,

Mama

Monthly Update: 24

Dear Foster,

Happy belated birthday!

You turned two last week, even though you've been acting like a terrible two year old for weeks now.  Partly because you were sick, I think, and partly because it's your job.

It started with an off and on fever that lasted for a week before I finally took you to the doctor where you were diagnosed with bronchitis. 

That week was awful, I tell ya.  Your daddy and I would just stare at each other like deer in the headlights because we had no idea what to do with you.

You whined.  You cried.  And, you had tantrums.  Two year old tantrums.  You know, the kind where the kid is screaming, "NO!" and waving his arms back and forth, sometimes even smacking his parents. 

Yeah, THAT kind of tantrum.

Thankfully those kind of tantrums are rare for you.  Usually you fall out because we can't read your mind, or because we told you no, or because you can't get the square peg into the round hole, or because, well, JUST BECAUSE!

To make matters worse, giving you medicine that week was not unlike trying to give medication to a cat!  Prying your mouth open with the syringe and then shooting it as far down your throat as possible.  Only to have you gag and spit it all back out.

You normally like medicine and get excited when we ask if you want some.  "It'll make you feel better" is what we always say, and lo and behold, it does!

But, since you didn't like this particular antibiotic, it took an extra day to finish the coarse of treatment.  The 'ole "it'll make you feel better" line didn't work, so I had to be firm with you and then love on you when it was all over.  I made sure to have something ready to offer afterward that would "help" with the taste and now that is your favorite thing to tell me...

"Juice will help, mama."

Once the antibiotic kicked in, you became your old self again.  My happy, chatty, busy boy!

I had no idea that turning two meant becoming bossy, but my gosh, all you do is tell me and your daddy what to do!  Life with you is a constant dialogue.  Like we're in mediation all. day. long.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  And then, at the end of the day, after we've each compromised on this point and that point, we're all exhausted and needing some sleep in order to have the energy to do it all over again tomorrow.

First thing in the morning is not, "Hi mama!  Good morning!  I love you! You're the prettiest mama ever!" 

No, it's more like, "Light on, mama!  Vaporizer off!  Heater off!  Ga-Ga (Foster) do it!  Want fruit-strip! Open it, mama!  Want more!  Banana!  Peeeeeeeeez.  Mama, hold you.  Hold you, mama!"

I'm telling you what, just talking with you is exhausting!  There isn't anything you can't say.  Granted, your words aren't all clear, but you try to say anything and everything.

Sometimes you get hung up on a word, but you are very persistent and even if it takes you three tries, you eventually get the sentence out.  Meanwhile, your daddy and I have turned into a puddle, willing the words out of your mouth, wishing we could say it for you, and then gushing with praise once you've said your peace.

We went to Florida for Christmas, and boy was that challenging  fun!

The ten hour drive to and from was exhausting for your me and your daddy.  I'm sure it was exhausting for you too, but in a different way.

For some reason you refuse to sleep in the car.  I don't understand it.  You are your father's and my child, so WHY DON'T YOU SLEEP IN THE CAR?!

Your daddy and I are champion sleepers.  I bet we could win the Olympics if sleeping was a sport. 

Before you were born we could log at least twelve hours a night on the weekends.  And, we were both great car sleepers growing up.  But, for some reason, you did not inherit this gene and the most you'll sleep in the car is an hour and a half.

Honk if you agree that that is not enough time for a toddler to sleep on a ten hour road trip...

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

*HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK*

Anyway, the only way we were able to get you to sleep, even that long, was to tell you, "Foster, it's nap time.  You had lunch, you played, and now we're going to turn on some music.  You need to close your eyes and take a nap."

Funny thing about you is that you actually obeyed us.  (Ha!  One point for Team Mama & Daddy!)

While we were in Florida you got to play with your cousins and get reacquainted with the rest of my family.  You were a great sport while we were there and I'm always so proud to show you off.

You're sweet, smart, a good eater, full of energy, and a good sleeper.  You make loving you so easy, you make loving fun.

(I was torn between which song title to post there, so I went with both.  Thank you for your understanding.)

We weren't back from Florida very long when your daddy went out of town on business.  For a week. 

Honestly, I was dreading being a single parent for that long, but once again, you came through, and we ended up having a great time together.  You even started counting to ten and singing the Alphabet Song that week.  (Ha!  One point for Team Mama!)

Maybe it was all that Mommy & Me time. No silly distractions from daddy. No hide & seek. No wrestling.

Or, maybe it was the fact that you're TWO now and those things just come naturally.  I'll go with the latter, because seeing and hearing you play with your daddy is totally worth losing that point!

When your daddy came home from his trip, he said, "I missed you (meaning me, of course he missed you!) and "I missed our family."

I thought that second part was so sweet.

I mean, yeah, we love each other and miss each other when we're not all together, but something about being all together is grander than each of us, just being each of us.

Maybe that's what Aristotle meant when he said, "The whole is more than the sum of its parts."

We celebrated your birthday with local family and I think you had a good time.  You ate up your cake and ice cream, and because you are my child, after all, you asked for seconds!

Then, that night, after we'd put you to bed, I heard you singing the Happy Birthday song to yourself.

If only those baby monitors came with a record button...

xoxo,

Mama

Monthly Update: 23

Hi Foster, whatcha doin?

That's what I say to you all the time, so I shouldn't be surprised that your favorite phrase this month was, "Hi Mama, doin?"

(Okay, maybe it was my favorite phrase too!)

Today is the first day of winter, but it has already been extremely cold for a few weeks.  So cold that we had to unpack your winter cap and mittens, a gift from your Great Aunt Nancy.

The cap, a puppy dog head with ears, is adorable on you.  And apparently, you think so too, because you insisted on wearing the ensemble to bed one night!

When your daddy and I went in to check on you, the cap was off, but the mittens were still on.  You looked so cozy lying there in the fetal position with mittens on, that my heart exploded.  It just couldn't handle the cuteness.

I don't normally go in to check on you at night because I literally can't handle the cuteness.  It hurts my heart.

I don't understand it myself, so trying to explain it to your daddy, that it hurts to see you like that, is a lost cause, but trust me, seeing you asleep with mittens on was too much. 

Help me, Rhonda.

Speaking of Rhonda, you love the Beach Boys.  Your Grandpa had to make you a Beach Boys CD because we didn't have one, and more than once this month you asked for the Beach Boys, specifically.

It's funny to me that you can say "Beach Boys", but your word for music is, "huh-huh".

Huh?

Your cuteness this month was balanced out by your stubbornness.  You don't like being told "no" and this month you challenged us every time. 

If daddy told you no, you'd come running to me, "Dada, no" as in, "Daddy said no, Mama, do something!"

One day you came home from school saying, "Mar-ree, no", as in "Mrs. Margorie said no!"  I asked you what Mrs. Margorie, your teacher, told you no about and you answered, "goos", as in "shoes".

Ah, let me guess...Mrs. Margorie told you not to take your shoes off. 

Well, surprise, surprise.  I mean, it's not like that's the first thing you do when we get you buckled into your car seat, now is it?

Oh wait.  Yes!  It is the first thing you do when we get you buckled into your car seat, and do you have any idea how annoying it is to arrive at our destination in the freezing cold and have to stand outside and put your socks and shoes back on?  Very.  Very annoying.

But, your daddy and I have chosen not to pick this battle.  Because, really, what are our options?

We could yell at you to put your socks and shoes back on, but you can't do that by yourself yet, so that's pointless.

We could yell at you to stop taking them off in the first place, but we don't realize you're even taking them off until we hear the thud on the floorboard and your sweet little voice, "goo off!"

We could pull the car over, take you out of your car seat and spank you, then put your socks and shoes back on, but that seems a little overkill, dontcha think?

We could wait until we arrive at our destination, put your socks and shoes back on and then spank you, but that seems a little too late, dontcha think?

We could torture you with Alanis Morrisette songs on repeat, but what if you actually liked her music, then it would be a little ironic, dontcha think?  (Yeah, I really do think.) 

(Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

Anyway...

You love saying "this way" and "that way".

On the way to school one day, you were in the back seat pointing and saying "that way" and I was driving and saying, "no, we go this way to school" and you kept saying "that way" and I kept saying, "Foster, school is this way", until I finally pointed out the passenger side window and asked, "Foster, what is that way?"  Your answer, "goo-lee-o-lee-oes", as in "trees".  (Duh, mom.)

That's right, buddy, there are trees over there.  In that direction.  That way.

Another day, on the way to school, we stopped next to a police car at a traffic light.  You love police cars, so I rolled your window down and told you to wave to the police man.  You did just that and lo and behold, he rolled his window down and waved back!

Now when we come to that traffic light, you say, "police man hi you!"  Because that's where the policeman said hi to you!

Another thing you like to say while we're in the car is "come on, people!"

I have no idea where you learned that.  *A-hem.*  (As I dart my eyes around the room looking for the perpetrator.)

The potty is still a novelty with you, but this month you actually poo-pooed on it.  Twice!  That's right, you poo-pooed on the potty at the ripe old age of 22 months.  I think you were just as shocked as your daddy and I were, and now every time you sit on the potty, you try to poop, and then hop off to take a look.

We don't make a big deal if there's no pee or poop, we praise you for simply sitting on the potty.  That may be a mistake though, because you've started to use this 'sitting on the potty thing' as a diversion and now when it's time to get dressed or clean up, you all of a sudden want to pee-pee on the potty.

Hairy, your daddy's monkey puppet from childhood, is your new BFF and naturally, we get roped into making him talk.  Constantly.

"Do Hairy", is what you say, and then you laugh hysterically as we make him he talks to you.  I think you think he's real, even though you know our hand is in there.  "Dada hand in there..."

Christmas is in four days and I think you're going to enjoy all the excitement of opening presents and playing with your cousins.

Last Christmas you weren't quite a year old, so it wasn't as exciting for you or us.  This year, though, your daddy and I are very excited for you.  We finally understand what Christmas with children is about.  The children.

Our gift this year is watching you and soaking in every moment.  Oh how I wish I could bottle your sweet round face, your alligator tears, your innocent little voice, the pitter-patter of your feet, and the weight of your body resting on mine as I rock you back to sleep once more.

I know next year will be just as fun, and as much as I look forward to you being a two year old, I also miss my baby.

Say, how would you like a baby brother or sister for Christmas next year? 

Think about it.

xoxo,

Mama

Monthly Update: 22

Dear Foster,

Here we are, the day after Thanksgiving and you are now 22 months old.

It's been a busy November and I'm looking forward to Christmas, the new year, and then, your second birthday!

I must confess, I have no idea what to get you for Christmas, much less your birthday.  I'm sure there are some things you'd like to have, but since you can't really verbalize that sorta thing, your daddy and I are left guessing.

We love watching you peruse catalogs.  Little Tikes is your favorite.  You sit at the table with us, catalog in hand - and stare, and squint, and turn the pages, and flip it upside down - then right side up.  All the while, a little furrow in your brow.

We thought about getting you some videos of your favorite cartoon, Super Why, but knowing you, by the time you got them on Christmas or your birthday, you'd be over it and on to the next big thing.

You don't even watch the cartoon anyway.  I think you just like the theme song at the beginning because after that you're off to the races again.

Role play has become your favorite kind of play and I'm constantly reminded that you are watching every. move. I. make.

You like to feed Bear-Bear and wipe his mouth.

You like to sit on the potty and wipe your butt.

You like to make a mess and then wipe your highchair tray.

You've helped me clean the windows a few times and love to Swiffer the floors.

You also like to help me in the kitchen, but the only thing I've let you do so far is stir the granola.  There's no hot stove and nothing sharp in that scenario.  (Yes, you sit atop a bar stool and could easily fall off and crack your head open, but hey, whatever works!)

In addition to role play, you've become very independent this month.  Learning how to blow your nose and peel a banana.

"Ga-Ga do" means "Foster do", which means, "Give that to me right now, or else I'm gonna fuss, then cry, then flail my arms, then stomp, and then run and tell the other parent on you!"

My favorite part of this month is your echo.  You repeat everything we say (everything we say)...even sentences (even sentences).

Or, maybe my favorite part is your sense of humor, which has really blossomed this month.  You play me like a fiddle and know exactly what buttons to push.

I try and get you to say, "I love mama!"  But, you know better and will say everything but... 

"I wuv Bear-Bear!"  "I wuv dada!"

I'm trying not to take it personally.

One day this month we went for a drive with Lucky, so of course, your daddy and I were fussing at him to LAY DOWN, BE STILL, GET BACK!  And you were in the back seat, repeating every word.  Except, you kept going, long after Lucky had settled down.

"LA-LA!"  (As you're looking out the window.)

"LA-LA!"  (As your feet are propped up.)

"LA-LA!"  (As you're taking off your shoes.)

Foster, I hate to break it to ya, but I don't think Lucky takes you very seriously.

One Sunday this month you overheard your Aunt Kathryn say, "Oh shoot!" and I guess you thought it was funny because you kept repeating "Oh shoot!", "Oh shoot!", "Oh shoot!"

You didn't really know what you were saying or in what context (or so I thought!), so I was surprised the next day when you dropped something and said, "Oh shoot!" 

When I repeated you, you began dropping the object over and over again, just to make sure you did, in fact, say it in the right context.

We haven't decorated for Christmas yet, but somehow you have learned that the song Jingle Bells is associated with Christmas.  So, whenever you see something that looks the least bit Christmas-y, you start to sing Jingle Bells.

Your daddy and I are cool with that, but we'd like to expand your repertoire, so we've been singing other Christmas carols and you love 'em!

You call the ABC's, the "A-B-B's" and according to you, a cow says "boo" and a cat says "be-ow".

(That's one scary cow!)

You'd think that the word LIBRARY would be hard to say, but nope, it's your clearest word these days.

Not only do you say that word well, but you love to go there.

You know that the library is where we go for story hour, to check out books, that we have to whisper there, and that it's a great place to take off running from me, because WHAT AM I GONNA DO?!

It is the library, after all, and I can't go screaming after you.  So, I remain calm, walk swiftly, and whisper at the top of my lungs, "Foster!  Stop!  Stay right there!  Don't move!  We don't run in the library!  No sir!"

Then, when I've got you within arm's reach, I jerk pick you up, and ever so gently (with clenched jaws) whisper in your ear, "YOU DO NOT RUN FROM MAMA!"

Then you cry.  Then we leave.

I love the way your hair is growing.  It curls above your ears and at the back of your head, like a duck tail.  I swear, I'm never gonna cut it!

Your daddy loves to comb it into what we call "the anchorman", but I prefer to give you a curl right on top of your head.  I don't think you have a preference yet.

We've had the California Rileys in town for two weeks and I don't know what you're gonna do when they leave next week.

You have thrived with your cousins, Peyton and Savannah, and I think they have enjoyed mothering you.

It's been a nice break for me and your daddy, too.  All we have to do is check on y'all from time to time.  You know, to make sure they haven't taken you outside or upstairs and forgotten about you.

I did that once with my baby brother, your Uncle Jonathan.

I had him in my room, on my bed, and went to tell my mom something.  When I got to her, she asked, "Aron, where's the baby?"

"Oops!"

Luckily, he didn't fall off and bump his head.  So, I'm not sure what's wrong with him!  (Just kidding, Jonathan, if you're reading this.)

Speaking of Jonathan, he has a son named Declan that you're going to get to play with next month when we go to Florida for Christmas.  You'll also get to play with your cousin Rebecca, and I hope you have as much fun with those two, as you've had with Peyton and "bo-da-da" (Savannah).

We love you, son, and we're so thankful for you.  Babies bring so much joy to families and you're no exception.

I can't wait until Christmas morning!

Now, if I could just figure out what to get you...A-hem, I mean, what to tell Santa to get you...

xoxo,

Mama

I thank my God upon every remembrance of you ~ Phillipians 1:3

Monthly Update: 21

Dear Foster,

Today is the 21st of October and you are 21 months old. 

This morning it occurred to me that I won't be able to say something like that again until 2030, when you turn 21 years old on January 21st.

You're growing up so fast that I often forget how old you actually are, and have to count on my fingers to figure it out.

Sometimes I think that the Terrible Twos are beginning, but then you go and do something so sweet that my heart melts and I change my mind.

One day at school your teacher had to put you back in your seat for lunch, twice, and then, you got up a third time, this time knocking over your plate and spilling your entire lunch on the floor.

Shame, shame, shame.

But then, the artwork you brought home that day was about the Good Samaritan.  Basically, a coloring page of two men; one giving water to the other, a band-aid stuck on the injured one, and two cotton balls glued on as clouds.

Did you catch that, A BAND-AID STUCK ON THE INJURED ONE...How sweet is that? 

Melt my heart, sweet.  My baby is the sweetest baby ever, sweet.  He can do no wrong, sweet.  That's how sweet.

The funny part of this is that I got the Good Samaritan story all confused and thought the Good Samaritan stopped to help Jesus on His way to the cross. 

(Reserve judgement, please.  I grew up in a Southern Baptist church.  I may not know Bible stories, but by golly, I know the Romans Road!) 

Anyway, before your daddy came home from work that day, I told him about your sweet Jesus artwork and how I didn't think I could ever part with it and how we have the sweetest baby boy ever!  But, I didn't tell him what the artwork was exactly, because I wanted it to be a surprise.

So when he got home, he was all, "Babe, this isn't Jesus.  The Good Samaritan stopped to help a Jew, not Jesus!  What's wrong with you?  You need to go back to Sunday School!"

And, I was all, "What?  Huh?  Oh yeah.  Duh.  Sorry, Foster.  That's not Jesus, that's just some Jewish guy." 

Guess I won't keep that piece of artwork after all.

When you're not at school, you're either outside or asking to go outside.  And by asking, I mean saying "outside" over and over and over again.  And then, if I don't respond, you start to drag all of your 'outside' toys to the door.

AND THEN, if the answer happens to be "no", you start to cry and are not easily soothed.  I always get down on your level and calmly explain why we can't go outside right this minute, but eventually I have to walk away and let you do your thing.

It is sad, though.  I won't deny it.  All you want in life is to go outside.  To play in the dirt.  To kick balls.  To pull up grass.  To run "round and round and round."  Is that too much to ask? 

No, no it isn't.  It's a very wholesome, easy request, but honestly Foster, somebody's gotta get supper on the table and that somebody is me.

You've started to say "hi" to everyone we pass on our strolls through the neighborhood.  And, once again, it's the sweetest thing ever.

First of all, your little voice is so quiet and well, sweet.  And then, secondly, you don't seem to be bothered when the people you're saying "hi" to don't say "hi" back.  You just keep on keeping on until we pass a dog or a cat or a truck or a car or a motorcycle or a leaf or anything or everything, and then you comment on that.  Whatever that happens to be at the moment.

A few months ago your Grandma was changing your diaper and telling you how big and stinky and lumpy it was, when all of a sudden you replied with, "big lump stinks!"  (Who knew that the fascination with poop started before the age of two?!)

Your Grandma laughed, of course, and then began telling everyone about your comment, which in turn, encouraged you to keep on keeping on...BIG LUMP STINKS!...BIG LUMP STINKS!...BIG LUMP STINKS!

Then, one day this month you casually tapped your diaper and said "big lump stinks".  Your daddy immediately knew what you were saying because he had just watched you pause during play to take care of business, so when he asked if you were poopy, without missing a beat, you tapped your diaper again and said "big lump stinks."

Folks, I think we're on the path to potty training!

In addition to feeding yourself with a spoon and fork, you can also drink from an open cup now.  I'm constantly amazed at all the skills you naturally learn.  After all, I work in a field with children who have disabilities and have to be taught this stuff.  I'm not used to working with a typically developing child, so forgive me when I hover.  I don't mean to be a helicopter mom, just to be a good mom.

One thing I have been good at is showering you with affection.  Maybe too good.  I've mentioned before that I cannot resist kissing you.  Your plump little cheeks.  I swear, I must kiss you a million times a day, and fortunately (or unfortunately) it shows in your play.  (I'm a poet and...)

Anyway, lately when you're playing with your trucks, instead of crashing them into each other or racing them across the floor, I hear "goo-wa-key!"  Which, when translated means, "trucks kiss!"

That's right, Foster, you make your trucks kiss.  Noes to nose.  Or, bumper to bumper.  You get my drift.

Again, how sweet is that?

Suffice it say, I cannot get enough of you.  You truly are a sweet boy.

In the evenings, when your daddy and I are lying in bed whispering to each other, one of us will inevitably ask the other, "how sweet is our boy?"

We both know the answer, so neither of us has to speak.  We just smile.  Sometimes giggle.  Always thankful for the gift you are.

xoxo,

Mama

Dreams really do come true. Ours came wrapped in Baby Blue!  ~Author Unknown

Monthly Update: 20

Dear Foster,

This week you turned twenty months old, which means you're no longer a teenager.  Wait, what?  That's not what I meant.  Sometimes it feels like you're a teenager, though. 

Like when you ask your daddy for permission to do something that I've already told you not to do.  And vice versa.

Or, like when you want to eat junk food all day.

Or, like when you sleep in. 

There have been several mornings this month that you have slept until 9:00.  You might have slept longer, but your daddy and I draw the line at 9:00.  You know, we have to make sure you're up in time to go back to sleep for your nap at noon!  I mean, let's face it, I've got things to do and we both know that I can only get those things done when you're napping!  Otherwise, it's a constant back and forth between the two of us...

Mama! 
What? 
Mama! 
What baby? 
Mama! 
What is it Foster? 
Mama!
Whatchu want bud?  Use your words.
Mama play!

And, we both know that's not what you really want because as soon as I sit down to play, you're on to the next thing...

Mama!
What?
Mama...

This month was a busy month for us with a trip to the Smokies, our first weekend apart, your first day of school, and the start of my new job.  It's no wonder I've felt overwhelmed this month!

I try really hard to to make the most of our time together.  To teach you something new each day.  And to love on you all I can.  But, the little things start to get to me after a while.  Things like cleaning up messes ALL DAY LONG!

Not just your messes, but the dead spiders in the basement, the hairballs on the floor, the pet hair on the couch, the crumbs on the counter, the dust on the furniture, and the list goes on and on.  This morning, no lie, I cleaned up your spilled milk three times! 

I'm guessing whoever said not to cry over spilled milk did not have a toddler spilling milk all over the place, because sometimes all I wanna do is cry.

You've caught on to my frustration and whenever I let out a sigh or a growl, you're quick to imitate me, and of course-it's adorable.  Instantly, my frown is turned up side down!

My favorite, though, is when you imitate my "dadgummit!", or my "oh dear!",  or your daddy's "oh crap!"

School, er, Mother's Day Out, is only two days per week for about 5 hours, and not surprisingly, YOU LOVE IT!

The first day was a little emotional for me, but you didn't even look back as I left the classroom.  And now, two weeks later, you literally run down the hall to your teacher!

She says that you're a happy boy.  You dance when the music on, never cry when you're there, eat most of your lunch (without stuffing it all in your mouth at once!), and somehow, by some miracle, you're the best napper in class!

Here's where I'm supposed to say, "That's my boy!"  Problem is, that's not the boy I know.

Don't get me wrong, you're a happy boy here at home.  You dance whenever we turn music on, which is a lot since you constantly ask for it!  But, you cry here.  You cry, you fuss, you pout, sometimes you stomp, AND you're starting to throw!

Not only that, but you have a tendency to cram your mouth full of food here, so I have to be very careful not to give you too much at once.

And not only that, even though you're a great sleeper here, I had no idea how you'd do on a mat.  ON THE FLOOR.

You're used to your crib and you like your crib, so the thought of you napping on a floor mat worried me for MONTHS prior to your first day.  But, apparently, on the first day of school, you laid down and went right to sleep. 

What?  I mean, that's my boy!

I guess it's just another way you've been acting like a teenager lately... giving in to peer pressure!

Thankfully, I have a few more years before I really have to worry about that, and until then, I'm going to keep teaching you something new each day and loving on you all I can.

Some days you're a little puddle of fuss, but other days people stop their cars to tell us that you just made their day..."seeing that little red head dancing on the sidewalk!"  And, do you know what I say?

That's my boy.

xoxo,

Mama

Monthly Update: 19

Dear Foster,

Today you turned 19 months old, and I bet you say 19 words per minute.  You are the chattiest son of a gun; even putting three words together now!

"Big school bus."  "Bye-bye big truck."  "Dada play guitar."  "Big thunder loud!"

Most of the time your daddy and I know what you're saying, but sometimes it takes a while to figure out.  Once we do, though, your little face lights up, and you say it over and over again, just to make sure we're all on the same page.

For the longest time we didn't know what you were saying during dinner.  You'd bend your head down toward your high chair tray, nearly touching it, and say GA-TA-GA-TA-GA-TA-GA-TA-GA-TA.

It would happen during the middle of the meal, so we were surprised when you did it at your grandparents' house after your grandpa said, "Let's say the blessing." 

A-HA!  You've been saying the blessing!

Why you bend your whole torso over onto your highchair tray, I'll never know.  I mean, do we look like we're bobbing for apples when we say the blessing around here?  Whatever the reason, it's the funniest thing ever, and of course, just when we figured out what you were doing, you caught on to us and now won't do it spontaneously.  You still say the blessing if we ask you to, but it's not the same.

We were at your grandparents' house one other evening this month, and for one reason or another, your grandma was laughing, rather loudly.  She has a very distinct laugh and you are captivated by it.  If you hear her laughing in the distance, you let us know. 

BA-BOO-WA!

That's right Foster.  Grandma is laughing.

Except this particular night as we were all at the table, you called grandma out. 

BA-BOO-WA, WOUD!  (As in, Grandma is loud!)

Yes, Foster, Grandma laughs loudly, but that's okay.  It's good to laugh.

Once we got you home and in the bath, you said it again, BA-BOO-WA, WOUD!  And, when we asked you what Grandma says, you began to imitate her high pitch laugh.

Your daddy and I cracked up, so you caught on to that too, and now you even imitate her in front of her.  She doesn't mind, though, she's a good sport.  Besides, everything with you is either WOUD! or BIG!  I think those are your two favorite adjectives right now.

Sometimes you even say that I'm loud.  Me, loud?  Whatevs.

For the past few months we've had to leave your diaper on until the moment we put you in the bath tub.  We learned the hard way, getting peed on a few times.  Except, I guess you also caught on to this, because once we started this new routine, your peeing habits changed and you began to wait until after your bath to pee all over the place.

You'd think I'd have learned by now, but noooooooo.  After your bath I still let you run around naked, and then scream while frantically searching for the Super Soaker as you stand there peeing on me.

Usually my screams scare you, but the other night, my screams delighted you, and as you were peeing, you began to laugh and then said, "pee-pee!"

Yeah, Foster, thanks for the news flash!

I'm not sure what you like more, big trucks or big trucks.  Your daddy and I have been trying to come up with some clever lyrics for an "I Like Big Trucks" song, but this is as far as we've gotten:

I like big trucks and I cannot lie,
you other babies can't deny. 
When a truck rolls by,
looking so fly,
and the wheels go round and round,
I get excited.
Wanna drive it.
Take it for a spin,
c'mon lemme in.
I can hear the radio blaring...

Anyway, you like big trucks so much that you talk about EVERY SINGLE ONE as we're driving--on the interstate!

Do you know how many big trucks there are on the interstate?  A lot.  A LOT!

bi goo-wa! bi goo-wa! bye-bye bi goo-wa. bi goo-wa bye-bye.  [2 second pause] bi goo-wa! bi goo-wa!....and on and on you go.

The other day we were all in the car and you were in the back seat saying, mama, dada, mama, dada, mama, dada, over and over again.  When finally, I looked back to see you with your fingers in your ears, plugging them.

I don't know where you learned to do that, but it was hilarious.  I guess you were experimenting with the sound.  Or lack thereof.

Which brings me to another ear experiment.  An experiment that your daddy scolded me for, and rightfully so.

You asked me for a Q-Tip, "Mama Q-Tip", meaning one of my Q-Tips.  The skinny, dangerous kind.  Not the fat, baby kind.  And, in an effort to be a laid-back mama, I gave you one.

I was in the bathroom at the time, putting on make-up (really, I was!) and you were in and out of the master bedroom kinda-sorta watching Sesame Street.

After I put on mascara I shimmied in to check on you, only to find you standing in front of the TV, your back to me, with the skinny, dangerous Q-Tip sticking straight out of your ear!

I snickered to myself and then without saying a word, removed it from your ear and threw it away.  You didn't like that much, but I simply said, "All done Q-Tip."  And now when you ask for "Mama Q-Tip", I explain that mama's Q-Tips aren't for babies and offer you a cotton ball instead.

Foster, I love hearing you talk.  It's the new soundtrack of my life.  Just today, as you and I were in the car together, you were in the backseat chatting away.  Singing, squealing, and narrating whatever you saw or thought. 

When we're in the car, I tilt the rear view mirror so that I can see you in the back seat--the twinkle in your eye or your furrowed brow, depending on what you're talking about at the moment.  Whatever it is, I don't want to miss it.

Children seldom misquote. In fact, they usually repeat word for word what you shouldn't have said. ~Author Unknown

xoxo,

Mama