Jesse is, as always, a professional rock star. His jaunty gait has been a little hoppy-er as of late, however, due to a lateral transfer at work that put him into new waters. The guy loves to learn, and he’s happier than a pig in… extra muddy mud. He’s reading research books at night, trying to explain new concepts to his willing-but-clueless wife, and grinning at his computer screen.
He’s also obsessed with fixing up a “family truck”. The most recent one brought with it a troupe of black widows and came complete with both an ichthys (Christian fish symbol) AND an “I ❤ My Hot Wife” bumper sticker.
Carter Patrick is obsessed with kindergarten. Watching him do so well and grow so much in a short time really makes me feel like we made the right decision to put him in a bit early. My mom-heart needed that validation. Within a few weeks, his reading and math skills and his love for science have picked up even more. He begs me to give him more homework at home, to practice reading with him. We read library books and pretend to be characters from them and run around the house, usually waking up or confusing poor baby Jack.
And I was worried about him socially. Because, well, he’s littler and he’s extra weird (my favorite). But seriously. Kid has so many friends. He went to his first classmate-birthday party this weekend and had a blast. And Allison (whoever she is, I’m coming for her) kissed him on the cheek at lunch and tried to hold his hand on the slide. And he’s won three “Pawsome” awards for being extra good in class or explaining what “rhythm” is in music class. And he comes home with paint on his nose and his gelled hair all a mess and he does NOT like the stuffed crust pizza in the cafeteria but begs me to pack him at least three pickled okras in his lunch. And he doesn’t care that he’s the only 4-year old, or that no one else likes pickled okra. And during show and tell, he told the whole class that he’s going to take ballet. Because Carter Patrick is the raddest, raddest kid.
Jackaroni and Cheese, Chumby, Quack. My littlest is not very little at all. He’s so, so long. And those thighs! But still with the furrowed brow and the raspy old-man laugh. And the thighs. Never has a babe had such thighs. Jack is his father’s image, but I’m pretty sure he has my exact personality. Too serious, and then suddenly all the happy. Eats without grace. The only thing missing is a love for sleep — but I think that can be learned (please?).
Cracker Jack has a mouth full of swollen gums and first teeth. He’s crawling everywhere. He has a penchant for the laundry room. I think the tile is the coldest in there. That, or he’s trying to get out to the garage to see the family truck. He loves his brother more than anyone else. He grows out of clothes faster than I can stock his drawers with his brother and cousins’ hand-me-downs. He is eating table foods, but he hates (HATES) anything with meat in it. Well, except fish sticks. He liked those. I’d say his favorite foods are carrots and coconut and strawberries. And everything else. And I’m good. Like, really good. I’m breathing a little life into my resume with a bit of freelancing (and getting to work with a most awesome friend, Celeste, at the same time). I’m taking barre classes (which fully deserves its own post, as I’m exercise-challenged). I’m finally hanging pictures up in my house and pulling out the Halloween decor and getting all sorts of stoked for Arizona-fall. I get to have Sean over for preschool three mornings a week, and we basically do academic hoodrat things while learning our colors, ABC’s, shapes, and basic rocket science. I’m on a strange nonfiction kick and am finally reading this gem. My favorite bible study started back up, and I can’t wait to get into some volunteer service work with those ladies. I’m churchin’ once a week and mopping the floor three times a day; I’m meal planning and I’m Momming. So much Momming.
And I miss her. And I get sad sometimes. A lot of sometimes. But my life is really, really beautiful. And both of those things make me want to cry, and that’s probably not appropriate (since I’m blogging from a very packed Cabin Coffee), so I’m going to get on with my Sunday now.