Monthly Update: 29

Dear Foster,

Today you are 29 months old.

I know.  I know.  I skipped a month or two (or three), but really, who's counting?

April came and went in a flash.  You got your first blister and your first skinned knee.  Blah, blah, blah.

We celebrated Easter and gave you your first Easter basket.  We hadn't given you one in years past because you were sorta clueless, but this year we went all out.

I struggled as a parent to find the balance between teaching you the true meaning of Easter and enjoying your excitement over the basket and all the festivities.  This is something I'm sure all Christian parents deal with at each Christian holy day.

Turns out, you got it.  During your bath that night I asked you what Easter means and you said, "Jesus is alive."

It really is that simple, isn't it?

At the end of April I went to the beach for a girls weekend, leaving you and your daddy to hold down the fort.

You guys had a great time together!  What, with all the playing outside, going to the zoo, shopping at "Pluck-Its" (Publix), eating at "Chik-a-Lay", and fixing stuff with "skroof-divers" (screw drivers).

But, when I returned home, you welcomed me with "I missed you, Mommy!" and "I luff you!"

I luff you too, Foster.  You have no idea.

In May we celebrated my 33rd birthday, then vacation, then your last day of school (Mother's Day Out), and finally, your daddy's 34th birthday.  (He's getting old, eh?)

Vacation was awesome this year!  Not just because we were at the beach, but because you loved everything about it - the surf, the sand, the pool, your own room, your own bathroom, and boiled peanuts.  You are my child after all.

Perhaps my favorite part of those harried months, though, was our lazy mornings in mine and your daddy's bed.

Lazy may not be the most appropriate adjective, seeing as how our mornings start somewhere between 5:30 and 6:30, but being able to snuggle in bed - all three of us - and snooze off and on while you watch cartoons, has felt indulgent.  We linger there as long as possible until you decide you've had enough and are ready for breakfast.

"Wake up Mommy!  Wake up Daddy!  Put your robe on.  Put your slippers on.  I want a fruit cup, peeeeez!"

Those mornings make up for the rest of the day when all I hear is, "No!  I no want to obey!"

I had no idea that two year olds knew how to talk back.  In fact, I was starting to panic and trying to figure out where we had gone wrong in our parenting when I got an email from a weekly parenting newsletter that I subscribe to, and guess what the topic was for this particular week?

TWO YEAR OLDS WHO TALK BACK!

Thank goodness!  I'm not crazy.  You're not crazy.  I'm not a bad parent and you're not a bad kid.  We're normal and every little thing gonna be all right.

In between your episodes of not wanting to obey and talking back, is a lot of cuteness, for realz.

One day at your grandparents' house, as we were all sitting down to lunch, we asked if you wanted to say the blessing.  This is something you like to do because you get to thank God for whatever you want. Thunder, hamburgers, blankets, etc...

So, you began, "Dear God, sank (thank) you...

And then there was a moment of silence.

Grandpa finally said, "For?"  And you replied, "five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

Bahahahaha!

At night, as we're putting you to bed, you give me the to-do list:  "Put a blanket on me and say me a prayer."

Sure thing.

Then you tell me:  "Take my milk downstairs and put it in the fridge."

Of course.  Anything else I can do for you?

Geez!

Last month we joined the YMCA, or as you call it, the YNCK.

At one point in your development you knew the letter A, but you have since forgotten and we've stopped correcting you.

We figure we only have a little while longer to enjoy your baby talk, so from now on, you may say whatever you want, however you want.

Already, "truck" has evolved from GOO-WA to KOO-WA to KOO-WAK and now to FRUCK.  What the fruck?

(You know I couldn't pass that one up!)

Lately you and I have had a lot of errands to run during the day, and since you're starting to ask questions, I've had to explain what "running errands" means.

Yeah - not easy, and I must not have done a very good job because one day after your nap, when we were scheduled to "run some errands", you said to me, "I no want to walk errands."

Well, if it's any consolation Foster, I don't want to walk errands either.  I'd rather drive.

Or would I?  I mean, the whole time we're in the car you're driving me crazy asking questions.

"What's dis song bout?  What's love means?  What's dat, Mommy?  What's dat for?  What you doin, Mommy?  Why we stop?  Where's Daddy?  Why he at work?"

Foster, you're only two.  You aren't supposed to start asking "wh" questions until you're three or four!

The worst is when you see someone different and incessantly ask questions about him or her.

Like last weekend at the YNCK,  you saw a paraplegic woman in a wheelchair and immediately started asking a question for every answer I gave you, "What's she got, Mommy?  Why she got a wheelchair?  Why her legs don't work?  What her legs broke for?"

AAAGGGHHH!

This week your Uncle Rob, Aunt Pam and cousins from Taiwan are visiting.  You've had a ball playing with Caleb, Anna & Rebekah.  They're leaving tomorrow and I'm so sad for you.  I know you're going to miss them.

Anna & Rebekah are three and you speak just as well as they do.  I like to take credit for your speech and language skills, but I know that I had very little to do with it.

You are your own person, and we've been teaching you about God and how He made you and put you in my belly.  Thankfully you don't ask questions about that yet.

We've always pointed out the hospital where you were born, and now you talk about it every time we pass because it's the same hospital where a doctor "cut Grandma's neck open."  (Your words, not mine.)

As I write about the hospital, I am reminded of little children, your age, who are there because they are sick.  There are two specific children I have been praying for these past few weeks, Scout & Sadie. 

Scout's family are local folks.  They are Christians and I feel a connection to them, even though I don't know them.

Sadie is a distant relative of yours...her mom is your Grandma's first cousin once removed.  I'm not sure what that makes you, but her family are also Christians, so we are all related in Christ.

These girls are fighting for their lives.  Both need healing, Scout's heart and Sadie's brain.  Reading about their daily struggles brings tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat.  I simply do not have words to express my gratitude to Our Father for your health.

xoxo,

Mama

May the LORD bless you and protect you.
May the LORD smile on you and be gracious to you.
May the LORD show you his favor and give you his peace.
~Numbers 6:24-26 (NLT)

Monthly Update: 26

Dear Foster,

Last month you turned 26 months old.

That's right.  I said last month.  This blog is late because it has been another whirlwind of a month.

It started when a bad cold turned into a bad stomach bug.  And, I mean B-A-D.  As in, you woke up in the middle of the night vomiting and vomited all. night. long.

The tummy bug lasted for a week, and all I heard, all week, was, "I no want no temperature."  Or, "I no want no fever."  Or, "It ba-woke." (Referring to your fever.)

Yeah, it broke all right.  Then came right back.  And, right back.  And, right back.

We could not keep your fever down, which was beyond frustrating.  You were such a pitiful little fella and it broke my heart knowing you felt so bad.

My heartbreak, however, was quickly balanced out by shock and awe over some "typical two-year old" behaviors that you displayed this month.  I am worn out and worn down after finally becoming "that mom". 

You know, the one that gives in to her child's temper tantrum.  The one that all the "how to discipline your child" books are written about.  The one that Super Nanny chastises on national television.  The one that all the other mothers scowl at when in public.  Yeah, that one.

I never thought I'd be "that mom", but what's a mama to do when her baby is sick, yet acting a fool?  It's a catch twenty-two.

I wanted you to drink fluids so that you wouldn't get dehydrated, so if you wanted "clock-it milk" (chocolate milk), you got it.

I wanted you to eat because an increase in your appetite meant that you were feeling better, so if you wanted "Chik-a-lay" (Chick-fil-A), you got it.

Those treats, however, became expectations once you were feeling better and when we said "no" (because, NO, you can't have chocolate milk and chicken nuggets every day!), the !#$% hit the fan, if you know what I'm sayin...

You ripped off your bib.  You threw your cup.  I yelled.  You cried.  I cried. You screamed.  You intentionally banged your head on the floor and then cried and screamed some more, "I hit my head! I hit my head!"

Because of this behavior, your daddy and I established a "cry chair" and now we put you in that chair every time you start in.

It's kind of like a time-out chair, but we only use it when you're pitching a fit.  Otherwise, we make the punishment fit the crime.

You don't want to wear your bib?  Fine, don't eat.  (Although, I must admit, after this battle I quit making you wear a bib.)  (I pick my battles, buddy, and so should you!)

You want to throw your cup?  Fine, you must be all done and I put it away.

You cry, scream, bang your head on the floor and don't want to stay in your cry chair?  Fine, I'll ignore you. 

Yesterday I actually walked around the house picking up CRUMBS in order to ignore you as you followed me around, pitching a fit over God Knows What.  And, guess what?  You stopped.

It worked!  Ignoring you worked.  Eventually.

Today you pitched a fit over God Knows What (really, I have no idea!) and when I put you in your cry chair, you did the whole arching-of-the-back-contortionist-thing and wouldn't stay in the chair, so I put you in your crib instead.  BINGO!

Surprisingly you still haven't climbed (or fallen) out of your crib, so putting you in there means you're stuck, which means, I WIN!

When you're not having a meltdown, you're a very sweet boy and you love playing with your "fa-wends" in your "ca-wib".

You and your "fa-wends" sleep together, eat together, watch movies together, go outside together, ride in the car together and even, sit on the potty together.  Sometimes you ask to bring all of them and we end up compromising on a few at a time.  Bear-Bear and Kitty Cat are your favorites.  Pooh-Bear runs a close third.

Because Bear-Bear is your BFF, he's always on your mind and you love to talk about him.

"Bear-Bear has no feets.  He has no legs.  He has no tummy.  He has no penis."

Sometimes you get a little sentimental about Bear-Bear, and ask, "Where's Bear-Bear's mommy?"

I'm never quite sure how to answer that one, so I say something different every time.

Maybe she's still at the store waiting for someone to buy her.
Maybe she's in the woods with all the other bears.  Eating honey.

You also love our pets and this morning when you woke up you began calling for Lucky.  Not me.  Not your daddy.  Lucky.

"Come in hee-ya, Lucky!  Lucky, come in hee-ya!  Come in my woom!"

The other day you and I were reading a book together, when up jumped Pumpkin.  She was purring, and your immediate comment was, "Pumpkin's snoring!"

I thought that was the cutest thing ever.  Almost as cute as you calling a street-sweeper, a "sweep-sweeper".  Or, nipples, "noodles".

It's true, you call them noodles!  So, as I'm getting dressed in the morning, you're pointing to them, "those are mommy's noodles." 

That's right, Foster, those are my noodles.

Another funny thing from this month happened one evening after your bath. 

We were all in your room, playing on the floor, when your daddy passed a little gas. (A-hem.)

He immediately said, "Foster, did you hear that frog?"  (Trying to distract you and me from what he had just done.)
You thought for a second, then said, "I hee-ya dat fa-wog in daddy's boo-utt!"

IN DADDY'S BUTT!  Ha, ha, ha!  No fooling you!

Naturally, a few days later you passed gas and without missing a beat, said, "dair's a fa-wog in my boo-utt!"

Daylight Savings Time started last month and instead of ushering in a season of you sleeping in later, you've been waking up earlier!

Are your daddy and I ever going to get to sleep past 6:30 AM ever again? (Yes, I meant to say EVER twice!)

Since you're up so early, you're all up in our business when we're trying to get dressed.  You won't watch cartoons, ya know.  Cartoons are for amateurs.

That explains why you're always pointing out my noodles, and at two years old, already wearing deodorant.

You don't put it under your arms.  No, you just put it under your shirt and rub it around wherever you can reach.  Once you got it up through the neck of your shirt and rolled it under your chin and another time you dropped it down your pants and it got stuck in the feet of your pajamas.

That kept you occupied for a while, so I just left well enough alone.  I figure deodorant can't hurt you unless you eat it, and luckily you're not one of those kids that eats non-food items very often.  It's a risk I'm willing to take if it'll keep you occupied for a while.

Because you're over two years old, we thought that maybe we'd start rewarding you for using the potty, so we bought some M & M's.  The miniature ones.

We keep them in a clear jar in the bathroom and whenever you try to pee or poop, you get one.

We were going to make you actually go pee or poop, but we're not sure you can control all of those functions yet, so we require you to push a little and since you've done both on the potty before, we know you have the ability to push something out some of the time.  Usually it's just a toot.

Either way, you get an M & M, or as you like to say an M & N.  Red is your favorite.

Another favorite thing or things, are koo-wucks (trucks).

I have neglected to write this down before, but you know all of the names for things with wheels, including construction vehicles.

Excavator, grader, scraper, feller buncher, cherry-picker - these are the ones I never knew.

Next to Bear-Bear, this is your favorite topic of conversation.  And, it makes for an easy activity.  There's always something with wheels wherever we go.  And, your Grandpa and Daddy have both taken you to construction sites just to watch the vehicles work.

More impressive than your truck knowledge, however, is your language development and I'm constantly blown away by what you understand and what you're able to say.  When I'm not surprised by it, I'm amused by it.

One of my favorite things to hear you say is "now", pronounced nay-ow.  Two syllables.

And, your newest words are "nope" and "hmmmm".

So, instead of just saying, "no", now (nay-ow) it's "nope!"

And, nay-ow when I ask you an open ended question, you answer with "hmmmm", as if you have to think about the answer.  (Which, I guess, maybe you do!)

Apart from all the drama this month, there have been some sweet moments too.

Cuddling with you.  Watching you play with your fa-wends.  And seeing you change ever so slightly, every day.

One of my fondest memories will be you saying "Don't ka-wy (cry) mama."

I don't know if I was really crying at the time, or if I was pretending to cry because you were being a turd.  Either way, you saying that is a reflection of what we say to you.  How you treat your friends is in direct correlation to how we treat you.  Maybe you're sweet because your daddy and I were first sweet to you.  I hope so.

xoxo,

Mama

We love Him because He first loved us.
1 John 4:19

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