Lila News: 21 Months

Dear Lila,

I started writing this post in March, and - can you believe it? - I got sidetracked and put it aside.  This is what I wrote:

You gave me a kiss for the first time last week (you had already smooched daddy and River a few days before and I was waiting anxiously for my turn).  It was a slobbery open-mouthed face mash and just about the sweetest thing ever.  It was evening, you were warm and cozy in your pajamas after bath time and your dad said, "Okay, Lila, it's time for bed.  Give mommy and River a kiss."  You hit us with your mushy love, waved and said "bye bye,"  and then led the way to your bedroom.  Amazing.  I think about the fact that you only just learned to walk a few short months ago, that it's even less time since you stopped putting EVERYTHING into your mouth, and I realize how quickly you've gone from baby to toddler.

My heart breaks a little bit to think of those baby days as "past."  To know that you won't ever again be a little 8 lb beauty practically floating in my arms; that I can't repeat those precious moments watching you discover your own hands; that I'll never again kiss those impossibly tiny toes.  Of course it's not a tragedy because I get to hold my 20 lb big girl as you chatter at me, and I can watch you discover how to hold a spoon or fork, and I can kiss those impossibly cute cheeks (and toes) anytime I want.

 

I wanted to share this with you because it's such a sweet little kernel of "Lila-life" and I don't want to forget it.  You have become quite an adept - and frequent - kisser, and every exit and goodbye is accompanied by a sweet smooch from you.  But should I try to request a kiss outside those parameters? Don't even think of it, buddy.  I used to worry that you would never be a cuddly kid.  You're so independent; you have never needed rocking and holding the way River did.  You have always pushed away too much affection and demanded your personal space.  But slowly, right about the time you finally deigned to let us have your sweet kisses, you started to allow a snuggle here, a hug there, until now, you will frequently occupy my lap for a long cuddle.  The key is that YOU must initiate.  If River or I go in for a hug (as we so often want to do), you will resolutely reject all advances.  This affection thing will occur on your terms or not at all.  It's something I love about you.

Your ability to fend off unwanted advances extends beyond people.  I remember a moment from last spring when we were at River's school to pick him up and one of the other parents had brought along their hyper, jumpy little puppy.  She was bouncing around from kid to kid and when she approached you for a quick nuzzle, you looked sternly at her and gave her a little "no, no, no" wag of your finger.  Every adult around dropped their jaw, then burst out laughing.  "Oh my," said one of them, "you don't have to worry about her at all."  We'll see.

While you don't want affection thrust upon you, you don't have the slightest compunction about thrusting your affection on animals.  Our long-suffering kitties have born the brunt of your rough love, enduring full-body tackles, sticky finger petting, and the occasional fur-pull.  Poe is smart enough to move away when she's had enough of your "love," but Edgar is too lazy to move; or perhaps so needy for affection that he is willing to put up with all sorts of indignities to get it.

You love all kinds of animals!  You gravitate toward animal picture books and whenever we're outside you're sure to point out the birds and squirrels and bugs that you see.  For a while you used the "bird" sign to point out small creatures, making a little "cheep cheep" sound as you pressed your thumb and index finger together.  Ducks made the "quack quack" sound, which you imitated quite well, but all other animals were ferocious beasts who made a deep-throated growl.  Elephant?  Growl.  Tiger? Growl.  Alpaca?  Growl.  After learning a series of real and made-up signs, you now know how to distinguish a monkey from a fish from a dinosaur.  For all the other myriad creatures you don't know the name for, we now sign "animal."  I miss the growl a little bit.

You are a little expert at sign language.  I know we could be having full conversations in sign by now if I could learn it more quickly, because you pick up a sign within the first few uses.  It's helped us tremendously in communicating with you.  You let us know when you're hungry or thirsty, when you need to potty or sleep; you point out things you see like flowers and helicopters (for which you've created your own sign of "air train"!).  And while you're moving at your own pace in speaking, you are definitely not missing out on sharing your ideas with us.  Sign came in handy a few months ago when you insisted on calling any grown-up mommy, even your father.  I taught you the sign for daddy and instantly you were able to say the word.  Now grown-ups are divided by gender into "mommy" and "daddy" - which is pretty amusing when you attack a stranger with a hug and an exuberant "Daddy!"

I mentioned your use of the sign for "potty" above and I don't want to skip over the fact that at 21 months you have effectively potty trained yourself.  River loves to hear the story I tell about how this came about, so here it is: You followed me into the bathroom one afternoon having nothing on but a diaper.  We had taught you the "potty" sign in anticipation of using it down the road, and you signed it to me then.  I said, "Yes, mommy is going to go potty."  You kept signing and started pulling your diaper off.  Finally it clicked and I asked if you wanted to try to go potty.  You gave a resounding head nod, so I pulled out River's old training seat and set you up.  I figured you'd be there for a few minutes and get off.  When I asked if you were done you shook your head no, so we waited a bit more.  Finally, I heard a little tinkle tinkle in the pot and I couldn't believe my ears.  We decided to seize the opportunity and get you into panties for a training weekend.  It went so well that you're now in them all the time (except sleeping), and we have lots of days with no accidents at all.  I'm so proud of you.

There is still one area where your independence waivers a bit, and that is blankie.  River has his stuffed bear as a sleeping companion but for you, it's always been the little punk rock quilt I made for you.  You've never taken a pacifier to sleep, and as I mentioned above, you're not really a cuddler, so most nights your bedtime routine is a few books and songs in a chair, then we lay you down with blankie, you pop your thumb in your mouth and fall asleep.  But blankie is such a comfort item for you, you've started carrying it around whenever we let you.  And when you have it in your hand, you almost always want to lay down on it with your thumb in your mouth. It's the cutest Pavlovian response I've ever seen.  It's really the only time you suck your thumb - but you simply can't resist when you have the pink and black blankie in your arms.

Lila, you are growing into such a fun and amazing person.  I've loved watching you transition from teeny baby to independent toddler.  You love to follow River around and try to do everything he does.  As a result you're quite a good climber and have surprising dexterity.  You love music and will dance to the beat anytime you hear it.  You are funny and happy and so easy-going.  And while the two's are on the horizon, and I know they won't pass us by unscathed, you have already shown us your basic approach to the world: enjoy life, laugh a lot, and don't let the little things stress you out.

I love you my baby girl.  To the moon and back.


xoxo,
Mommy

Hello to you too

Upon waking yesterday morning, Lila saw our cat, Edgar, in the kitchen, waved to him and said, "Hi!" She said "Hi!" again about half a dozen times yesterday to me, River, daddy, and my friend Jonathan. Aside from Ma-ma-ma (me) and ba-ba-ba (what she uses for her "boys," daddy and River), "Hi" is her first word. It's so indicative of her personality that a friendly greeting would be high on her list. Lila continues to be my angel baby - sweet and happy, curious and able to entertain herself. She has her determined moments; times when a freight train barreling toward her coudn't keep her from her goal.  But for the most part she's a bright light of love in this house.

I'll be excited to see what words come next - what inspires her, what she wants or likes.  Puppies and sunshine, I bet.  I was looking over this post about River's first words and was amused to remember that "Hi" came much later on his list, and long after "trash," "digger," "beer," and "boobies." 

It's all about priorities.

Lila News: Nine Months

Dear Lila Jae (and, yes, you should get used to hearing both names - it's a verbal tick none of us can help),


I need at least three more of these updates to fully describe all that has happened in the past four months, but we'll just have to manage with this.  METAMORPHOSIS!  You are a little butterfly, my beautiful girl, compared with the cute little caterpillar you were just back in May.  Then you were just learning to roll over.  Now?  You roll anywhichway, sit up, crawl, pull up, feed yourself, and run a little sports-book in the back of the house. 



You're still an epically good sleeper, but you don't do it nearly as often.  For the first six months you pretty much slept all the time with very short breaks to wake up, look around, be cute, and fall back into your natural state of slumber.  Then all of a sudden you WOKE UP.  You still manage to sleep through the night, and given the right conditions you still nap easily, but you decided that 10 naps a day was for wussies, you only needed 2 or 3.  At first we were so confused that our little angel baby was turning into such a fuss bucket - and then we just stopped forcing you into your crib and you stopped screaming at us.  Funny that.



It wasn't just that you stopped needing sleep, you really started engaging in the world.  You wanted to be in it - play with your brother, tackle the cats, show mama how clever you are.  You decided about 2 months ago that you wanted to crawl, and you just worked and worked and worked until you could do it.  You still entertain yourself most of the time (you go from toy to toy, investigate the kitchen or under the dining table - perfectly content), but you have to be moving.  In fact, your need to move is so strong that anything that slows you down gets the Lila Scream Treatment.  Diaper changes, dressing after bath, trimming your nails - all ridiculous tasks you want nothing to do with. And when I carry you, you are all business: what can I see? what can I reach?  where are we going?  There are no sweet snuggles into mommy's shoulder; I have to carry you face forward - arm across your chest and hand between your legs - so you have the view you want.



In fact, you have such a minimal need for affection that you weened yourself at 8 months.  By that point we were really only nursing a few times a day and you were so disinterested in the task, I stopped forcing it on you.  It definitely hurt my heart to think you weren't devastated by the loss of connection, but as Nanu recently pointed out, River probably nursed enough for both of you.  So, my body is my own again (for the first time in 4 years!) and you are thrilled to hold your own bottles.



I never imagined you would be so fiercely independent.  You are so easy going in so many ways, but when you set your sights on a goal you are relentless.  We struggled for months trying to feed you that icky glop of first foods (oatmeal and jarred fruit).  You wouldn't touch it.  You were obviously hungry, but you pushed the spoon away like a little rage-filled gremlim.  Finally out of desperation - even though I didn't think you were ready - I started trying more solid foods: chopped bananas, avocados, cooked carrots.  You LOVED them.  But you had to feed yourself.  You would reject any offer of help, and even if it took 12 pieces of cheerio falling into the cracks of your seat before one piece hit your mouth, you were determined to do it yourself.  We've since managed a kind of compromise; you get plenty of Lila-friendly bites and in return you grudgingly let me slip a spoonful or two of yogurt or pears in your mouth before you take the spoon and fling the contents around the room.  It works.




You have the sweetest krinkle-nose smile - made even cuter by the six teeth occupying your mouth.  You love to make people laugh and will do silly tricks or little pop-pops with your mouth to elicit a smile.  You love to blow raspberries and you say mum-mum-mum and dah-dah-dah. 

As for your brother, River is still the center of your world and when he's gone (as he will be much more often now that he's starting preschool), you get bored and fussy.  Where's my brother?  Where's the fun guy?  Thankfully he's dealing with your mobility well.  We try to distract you enough for him to finish any building projects (which he's usually making for you - his demolition crew), and he is great about finding things for you to play with or trading toys when you've got something he wants.  I love seeing you together. I love knowing you will have a relationship that no one can touch.  I love that he protects you and I love that you look up to him so much. 



It's been a busy summer full of travel and lots of firsts (ice cream! eating sand!), and through it all you just keep growing and asserting that amazing personality of yours.  You are still the zen master of the house, but under that calm exterior is a fierce little fireball lying in wait.



I love you my perfect little girl,
Mama

what's that? my head exploding.

We've entered the stage of the eternal question. The question around here isn't, "Why?" as you might expect, but rather some variation on, "What's that?" I hear, "What's that?" and "What happened?" about as often as I breath in and out. After a phone call in which the other party is on speaker phone and River can hear the entire exchange, he asks, "What say?" What do you think we said, kid? You heard the whole thing!

Sometimes he asks when we've encountered something new, like a strange truck or a weird plant, and I'll try to do my best to explain. Other times he's reading a story and doesn't quite follow the plot. Much of the time, however, he seems to have his mouth on autopilot and asks about things he knows perfectly well.

"What's that?"
"What do you think it is, honey?"
"Airplane."
"Exactly."

"What say?"
"Well, I told your dad we're on our way home."

I haven't quite reached the exasperated point yet, mainly because I know his ever-expanding curiosity has found a new form of expression and I love that. I love that he wants to understand, that he thinks I have all the answers, that he's constantly in the process of learning. But someday soon, I may have to answer "What's that?" with an explanation of how mommy's brains exploded onto the floor after the millionth time I heard that question.

oh.

River is just soaking up knowledge these days and he loves when I explain things to him. Yesterday we were sitting in his glider reading a book and I asked if he wanted to sit up so he could see better. He said, "No. River like it here," pointing to where his head had been laying on the chair. I said, "You like the armrest. That part of the chair is called an armrest." Then, matter of factly, as though he were filing that little bit of information away in his brain, he said, "Oh." Not an insincere, whatever mom, kind of "oh." It was a fully engaged, I totally get it "oh." He was quiet for a second, then just to show he had understood he chewed out the new words, "River like head arm-rest."

I wish I could convey the wealth of meaning that that little "oh" seems to have. He says it all the time, punctuating his certainty with one sweet little syllable. It's even more adorable when he switches it up and says, "Ah." I can just see the spark of insight as though he were Sherlock Holmes saying, "Ah ha! Watson, the game is afoot!"

He's also taken to demanding, "Mommy talk." We'll be sitting in the sandbox playing with a toy airport and he wants me to tell him all about the planes and the tower, how the baggage works, and where the people go. Instead of learning principally through visuals, he understands so much language now, and he likes to hear me teach him about his world with words. I love hearing him say, "Mommy talk," watching him follow along a discussion of traffic lights or cooking eggs, and wrap it all up with a bright little, "Oh."

really it's more like "super-sized"

Playing lego trash has become a daily game here at the Doyles. What? You don't know what "lego trash" is? Let me tell ya.

River overseas the building of a nifty trash truck out of legos and then one or two of a select few "guys" gets to fill it with more legos. Usually lego mommy ("ittle mommy") gets to load while "ittle daddy" pushes the imaginary button to smash it all in. The truck gets moved to the city dump where it drops its load and is filled up again. Sometimes River controls the lego mommy, sometimes Mommy does, but most often Mommy holds the monkey or bear who holds the lego mommy to do the work. As you can imagine, it's quite a feat of physical prowess to manage all of this.

The other day River was examining "ittle mommy" and noticed her "ittle butt!" A chant of "Ittle butt! Ittle Butt!" proceeded, and I said, "Yes, little mommy has a little butt." Finding it pretty hilarious, but also wanting to continue this lesson of little and big, I asked him if River had a little butt or a big butt. "Ittle" was, of course, the answer. Then, without prompting, he turned to me and said, "Mommy big butt!"

Thanks, River. Remind me to keep my big mouth shut the next time I try to teach you something.

anyone got some duct tape?

River and I are enjoying breakfast at the Diesel Cafe in Davis Square (okay, that should read: River is running around in circles avoiding his muffin while I try to pound my coffee). After a few hundred laps around the room he jumps up on me and suddenly gets very snugly.

I should preface the next part by saying that though River has been weened for a while, he still has quite an obsession with my chest (he's a man; I suppose the obsession is hard-wired). He likes to use it as a pillow as he's going down for a nap. I've tried to discourage overt fondling, but occasionally he still sneaks in a few seconds of motor-boating. So he's there, resting his head on my ladies, when he suddenly looks up and shouts to the roomful of strangers, "BOOBIES!"

Saturday my friend Ben is in town to play a show (awesome job, by the way) and he crashes at our place. Sunday morning River is busy eating an apple in my lap and looks over to Ben, points to his apple and says, "Apple." He then points to my chest and says, "Boobies," whereupon he rests his head and finishes his snack. Just in case you wanted to know what I'm doing, Uncle Ben.

Back at the cafe... After River shares his love of boobies with the room, he notices his nose is running and he's conveniently left a slime trail across my shirt. He has to let the people know, right? So the next thirty seconds proceed with me turning a new shade of red as he screams, "BOOBIES! BOOGERS! BOOBIES! BOOGERS!"

I guess I should feel lucky he didn't feel the need to talk about his penis too...

overheard in the bathtub

Thom: "Eye. Patch. Eye. Patch."

River: "Eye...patch. Aaargh!"

River News: Month Twenty-One

Dear River,

Happy 21 months! Between traveling, Christmas, and New Years, this one kind of snuck up on me. It wasn't until about 9am on New Years Day, as your dad and I were lounging on the beach in Cabo San Lucas, that I realized you had officially turned one month older. You spent the day making your grandparents swoon and giggle, while your dad and I basked in the sunshine and drank margaritas--a wonderful way to kick off a new month and a new year.





































So much of this month has been consumed by making and (as little as I could possibly get away with) buying presents that I'm having a hard time thinking of all the wonderful kernels of how you've changed. One reason I was able to accomplish so much (three stuffed animals and 32 placemats sewn!) is that you have learned how to entertain yourself for longer and longer periods of time. Now, we're talking five minutes here, ten minutes there, but compared to the constant attention you demanded just a few months ago, this has felt like an eternity to me. Five whole minutes without reading any books, pushing any trucks, or doing any silly dances?! That's an insane bounty of time!



















When you have those happy independent moments it's hard to actually use that time wisely and not to just watch you dreaming up your own world. You make little games of tearing up paper and throwing it away, coloring abstract expressionist art, talking to your critters and "guys," and I am dying to know what's happening in the amazing labyrinth of your mind.










































As your language keeps growing and growing, it's easier to figure out what you're thinking and what you want. You've just had an explosion of words this month, putting little sentences together like "make playdough" (the cutest word in the world, which sounds like "pay-oohh") and "mommy tickle." The words you are learning faster than any other are names for people and pets. Our kitty Edgar has gone from "Ger" to "Egger" and in addition to Dadu and Nanu (my parents) you've started saying "Ama and Apa" (for daddy's parents, Oma and Opa). Cousin Sydney ("Neyce"), Uncle Nelse ("Unc"), auntie Jenn ("Jar"), Auntie Crystal ("Tanta"), Uncle Kevin ("Unc Kev") have all enjoyed hearing their new River names.



















This month we went to Las Vegas to celebrate Christmas, and you had an extraordinary time. You slept well, ate well (as well as a toddler can be expected to), played with everyone, and seemed to have no trouble spending time with any of the million people paraded in front of you. Your dad and I took this opportunity to go away from you for the first time, leaving you with the grandparents while we had a little Mexican holiday over New Years. It was four days of bliss for all of us. You were on your best behavior for the grandparents, and dad and I were able to relax, read books, and only occasionally pine for you. By the last day, I was really ready to see my little guy, and as soon as I broke through the airport customs door, I ran over and swooped you up. And, true to form, you said, "Dadda."



















Apparently, all that good behavior was very draining on you because the next day you were a pile of whine and fuss. The flight to Boston was the roughest we've had yet - 40 minutes of straight screaming - but once we got back in our own house with our happy cats, you found your way back to sane.

























I was going to start this next paragraph with something like: "The theme of this month has been Get Away From Me Mommy! You have decided that your dad is just the bees knees and you want to be near him constantly. Meanwhile, I'm as appealing to you as a week-old slab of spam. Any effort to show affection or love is met with a firm, "No!" No hugs, no kisses, don't hold me, don't touch me, you silly mommy, you. I know this is a common phase for toddlers. Suddenly that life-giving, all-powerful, pure source of love - the mommy - turns into a not-so-fun robot set on the verbal repeat of "No." Daddy is exotic - he's away for most of the day, so he's not around to tell you not to eat food off the bathroom floor or to shove you into uncomfortable snow boots and coats 15 times a day. I get it. I do. Dad is rad, and mom is the stuff you want to scrape off the bottom of your shoe."



















However, since we came back from Vegas, this severe distaste for all things mommy seems to have faded, and you've gone back to being my cuddly, funny, mommy-loving boy. It's amazing what a few extra hugs can do for my mood. After a little session of snuggling and peek-a-boo in bed yesterday, I felt like I'd been mainlining opium. Whoo hoo! Look at all the colors! I'm sure we'll go back to the grumpy-gus at some point, but I'm drinking these moments in right now.




















This has been a hard and wonderful year. More than ever I feel like being a mommy is the most difficult, most rewarding, most life-fulfilling job ever, and I cannot wait to see what 2009 brings for all of us.



















I love you love you love you,
Mommy

Adventures in language pt 2: Friends

Our old neighbors, The J's, have been such great friends to all of us over the past year. Dinners, playdates, and swim outings have been just a few of the events our families have shared together. This Halloween we got together to watch the boys squirm in their seats, run around, and generally create havoc at a showing of It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. It was the first movie either wild child had been to, so we weren't too surprised when they only lasted a half an hour. All in all a fun trip.

The most exciting thing to come from that evening was when River called his friend by name. "Jackson" has been "Jack-Jack" since then, and every time we pass their house or mention them, River starts a chorus of "Jack-Jack." Yesterday I told River he would get to have a playdate with his friend this morning and we've heard his name chanted and praised intermittently since then.

I dropped River off at the J's house in the morning and he ran into the living room searching for his buddy. (I took the opportunity to sit down and read a newspaper for the first time in over a year and get some speed winter clothes shopping done.) When I came back to pick him up a few hours later, River looked liked he'd had the time of his life.

"Time to say goodbye, honey."

"Bye-bye," was the refrain, followed by the cutest hugs and kisses I could imagine.

I love that River has a friend, that he is so familiar with another little person just his age, and that they will be able to form lasting memories long into the future. It's such a gift for all of us.

There will be more friends, more names for him to learn, more adventures to be had, but there is something so special about the first.



















(River, Jackson, and Finn, from this past summer)

Adventures in language

Yesterday as we walked toward one of our favorite coffee shops, River started chanting the name of the owner. He said, "Paul, Paul, Paul," as we walked through the door, "Paul, Paul, Paul," as Not-Paul took our order, and "Paul, Paul, Paul," as I explained that Paul was off for the day and we could see him tomorrow. We don't get over to this coffee shop as much as we used to because it's a little further from our new house, but still, every Saturday morning we have a date with Paul's Petsi Pies. Thom loves the "Charlie Sandwich" (eggs, cheddar, chorizo, and tobasco), River loves the blueberry muffins and fruit, and I love the atmosphere (and iced mochas).

As we were enjoying our muffin and mocha yesterday afternoon, Thom called to let us know his schedule for the evening (late flight and probably not home until after nine). Since River wouldn't get to see his dad that day, I put him on the phone so daddy could say hi. Once he heard his dad's voice, however, it was River who did all the talking, saying, "Hi, hi, hi," and then, "Hi, hi, hi," and then again, "Hi, hi, hi."

I often forget that I get to hear all of River's booming language before anyone else, and he repeats new words so often that it only takes 10 minutes for a new word to become old to me.

So when Thom came home last night and asked, "Was that River talking on the phone?" I was a little surprised.

"Yeah, didn't you hear him say 'hi'?"

"I didn't know he could say 'hi'."

"Yeah, 'hi' and 'bye bye'."

"But he talked on the phone. He used the phone just like you're supposed to."

"Oh, yeah. That's pretty cool, huh?"

Pretty soon he'll be putting words together to make little sentences. Then his lisp will disappear and he'll be able to say all the consonants. Like his tentative first steps, which have now turned into confidant strides, his language will get more and more clear until we don't even notice what an accomplishment it is for him to say "garbage truck" or "cognitive dissonance."

Over the past few months I've been keeping a list of all the words River says, but since he's learning up to 5 or 10 new words a day, it's getting harder and harder to keep track. So for posterity's sake, here is the list of 50 or so of River's first words. It'll give you a pretty good idea of where his interests lie. (I've highlighted my favorites.)

mamma
dadda
hot
bubbles
ball
water
bath
juice
bear
house
trash
turtle
choo choo
cook
cookie
moo
Poe Poe
ice
caboose
tow truck
digger
baby
Bob Bob (bob the builder)
waffle
no
dog
clock
cluck
moon
walk
book
two
peas
uh oh
mouth
off
hook
chew
teeth
nuts
star
ladder
more
grandpa
River
yes
on
cow
eye
dirty
blue
milk
messy
beer
clean
bye bye
hi

River News: Month Fifteen

Dear River,

You are changing so fast and in such significant ways, a blog post feels hardly weighty enough to document all that this month has brought. With a little more time on my hands I might hand-write your adventures on parchment, laminate the 20 or so stories therein, and collect them all in a book called The Amazing Things My Brilliant Son Can Do! Unfortunately, given how busy we have been as of late, you will have to live with this sad shadow of a re-telling. I hope you can cope.























First, let's talk about your WORDS. I know I've mentioned this in the past, but you definitely have some words now. I hear these regularly, and in the correct context, so I feel confident to say that YOU ARE TALKING. It's still sporadic, but some frequently used ones are mama (pronounced Ma-mom), dada, yea (pronounced like the Russian "Da"), and hi.

You're getting very good at communicating what you want--either verbally or with signs. We've taught you a few that you use often (more, milk, all done, hot, drink, eat, and water) but my favorite is the one you've made up yourself. To request something, you take your hands to your chest, twist back and forth, and give a huge smile. I didn't come up with it, so I don't have a direct translation, but depending on the context, it has meant: yummy, please, give, or nurse. One day you created this sign and now we see it all the time; I have no idea how it fell into your brain, but I'm so glad it did.



















Most of your signs seem to be related to eating, which is appropriate since we sit you down to roughly seven meals a day. That sounds like a lot, doesn't it? You don't always eat a lot at each sitting, but it's key to give you lots of opportunities to get food in your belly. Otherwise, my cute little River disappears and you turn into The Hunger Grouch. Picture the Cookie Monster crossed with Mama Alien, and you'll have some idea of what you're like when you get hungry.

This month you've made a big step in eating: using toddler utensils, plates, and cups! The mechanics of scooping and drinking are still tricky, but the speed at which you're learning is incredible. Still, when the fork is too slow, you often resort to shoving fistfuls of food--gooey peanut butter or juicy cherries--in by hand. Yesterday I watched you put four grapes into your mouth, only to fit two more on top of them. These are moments I question the wisdom of having your father feed you dinner every night. He is king of shove-it-in eating, and if it wasn't an inborn trait, you have definitely learned it from watching him.


















But if we're talking about modeling behavior, I have to admit responsibility for a few of your quirks. We know you like order, but now you seem to be under the impression that when it comes to the house, mom is in charge. About two weeks ago, you were downstairs with your dad and decided to do a load of laundry (you really do help--putting clothes in, taking them out, and pushing the buttons). We keep a bucket near the washing machine full of dirty washcloths, towels, River clothes, etc. You pulled the bucket to the washing machine and, with your dad's help, started to load it in. I told him to hold off on running it while I got some more of your clothes from your room. While I was upstairs, I heard your dad trying to explain something to you, "No, honey, don't put those away. We want to wash your shoes." Apparently, you found a pair of your shoes in the bucket and were trying to put them in the closet where they usually go. No amount of reassurance from your dad convinced you that those shoes belonged in that washer. As I headed back down I heard your father say, "Okay, ask your mom." You waited expectantly at the bottom of the stairs, disputed shoes in hand, and when I said, "It's okay, honey, we want to WASH those shoes," you made a bee-line for the machine and tossed them in.


















Does this story make my heart swell? Yes. I'll leave it at that.

When your cousin Sydney was two, she already had one chore: feeding the kitties. I know your dad is just waiting for the day when you can take the garbage out or mow the lawn, but I think we may aspire to Sydney's example. It has become part of our nightly ritual to feed the cats before we head up to your bath. You help with this by pulling the dry food out of the cabinet and handing us a can of wet food. Sometimes you need a little coaxing, but you've become unbelievably good and helping with this. I imagine by the end of the year, this job will be all your own.

Lest you think we're running a baby sweatshop (Iron those clothes Riverella! Clean out the litter!), we do engage in activities that are pure play. You love to dance, and you shake and wiggle when the spirit moves you. Usually you are inspired by a poppy song on the stereo, but it could just as well be The Cure or Death Cab that gets your booty shaking.























One activity that I'm very excited to encourage is your interest in coloring. Early this month we made a Father's Day poster for the grandpas, and you loved getting messy with the markers, creating lines and squiggles, and painting yourself in the process. A week after Father's Day had passed you had asked work on the poster for the twentieth time, so I decided you needed a permanent place to color. We got a little table and chairs, a roll of butcher paper, and some crayons, and now you sit down almost daily to do some art. You're still learning how to hold the crayons, and you seem to love taking them out and putting them away more than anything, but it's so fun to see that budding creativity in you.























Your grandma Julie (the librarian) will be very happy to hear that over the last few months you have developed a real love for books. Your only interest in books during your first year of life was to chew on them, so I was thrilled to realize you actually enjoy reading them together now! Often during the day, you will go to your bookshelf, pick out your favorite book of the week, and bring it to me to read. We sit together on the floor or in the rocking chair, and off we go into imagination land. Some books appeal to your sense of rhythm (Hand Hand Fingers Thumb), some appeal to your tactile stimulation (That's Not My Pirate!), and some appeal to your need to snuggle (Hug and I Like it When...). I love reading with you, watching the wheels turn as you connect pictures to words, and helping you begin a love affair with one of my favorite things.

There is one thing from this past month that I can't ignore and that is all the time we have spent outside. Summer is here! The weather is warm! And, this month, Mr. River, you have taken full advantage of the beautiful outdoors. We go to parks daily; sometimes we've made two or three trips by the time we plunk you into your bath at night. You love to be outside exploring, trying out your climbing or sliding skills, or wandering around the lot picking up abandoned pieces of trash to throw away. (That's right. You go out of your way to clean up after other people. When you are 15 and surrounded by teenage filth I will refer you to this paragraph and ask what the heck happened.)


















I'm thrilled that you're old enough this summer to play in the water outdoors. No more scuzzy YMCA pool for us! Between the kiddie pool we have in our yard, water features in the playgrounds we visit, and occasional trips to public pools, you spend time in the water almost every day. Usually I end up getting pretty soaked myself (though I'm not always planning on it), but the water calls to you and we must both answer.



















The advantage of spending so much time outside is that it let's you burn off the enormous energy you have buzzing through your body. You are a human super-nova: burn, burn, burn... and blackout.

Outdoor days yield good naps, and your momma chases good naps like a fashionista chases Manolos. You've recently added a step to our naptime routine that is just about ripping my heart out. After I set you in your crib, you snuggle in with Lou and Mr. Bear, I put the blanket over you, and you look up at me expectantly. You are waiting for me to a give you a wave goodbye. After you wave back, you smile, lay your head down and the ritual is complete.

After many, many years, when I have reached the end of my days, I hope that that is the last image I am blessed to see: my beautiful son smiling and waving me on.


















I love you my boy,
Mommy

Today River...

... pulled mommy to the park (and when he got tired walking on the way, he pointed where he wanted to go)
... started using walking as a means of travel (rather than just a novelty)
... fell asleep without any help (this is a first)
... said "all done" at the end of dinner (we actually caught this on video)