The Bo List

Let me tell you about Bo’s list.

Maybe list is a poor description. A love hierarchy might be a better way to describe it, since numbering things at any given moment might get complicated.

There are Stanleys [his motley crue of loveys, which he stuffs in his mouth to the point that sometimes he appears to be gagging himself].

Lollipops. Any flavor. Sometimes I give him the pineapple just because I know no one else will eat them.

Chocolate Milk. [Choc. Choc. Choc? Ma-ma? Choc. 6:30am and he is pushing my glasses into my hand so I can see to make his Choc.]

Bubble Bath! Which is good, because he also loves to make a gigantic mess. Any mess involving jelly is just a bonus.

Daddy‘s definitely on the list. His position fluctuates depending on whether he is just walking in the door [list position: above lollipops] or making him go to bed [list position: below having fingernails clipped].

Choo-choo trains.

Pretty and Grandma Moose enjoy pretty lofty status, too. But grandmothers don’t ever have to say no, either, so what would one expect?

I’m somewhere between choo-choo trains and fingernail clipping myself.

But there has never been a question, not one single day since he was able to track objects with his eyes, about who is at the top of his love hierarchy.
Her name is his favorite word: Buck Buck.

When I get him up from nap every day, I nuzzle his cool cheeks and attempt to cover him with kisses. Meanwhile, he’s giving me the stiff arm to the face, wiggling to the floor, and yelling the usual Buck Buck! while he toddles away from me.

On the first day of school Mary Bullock ran off toward her classroom without saying good-bye, and he yelled down the breezeway:


Until she came back to hug and kiss him.

Don’t get the wrong idea– there is still a lot of pinching, hair pulling, and toy squabbling around here.  But his forgiveness for her is bottomless, and his grudges are [so far] short lived.

I hope it is this way with them forever.

I hope she’s always at the top of his list.

I hope on her wedding day, he toasts her, calls her Buck Buck, and tries not to cry.

I hope they call each other on their birthdays and love each other’s children.

I hope.

I hope.

I hope.


Tip of the Week

Can’t get your preschooler to nap?

Tell her it’s time to clean up-clean up.

Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.

My Favorite Thing About Him

It’s not his eyes, although they are dreamy.

It’s not the chub between his cheeks and his neck, although I can never resist covering him in kisses right in his special spot.

It’s not how he says HI. MA-MA. Choc [chocolate milk]? first thing after tumbling into our room and hoisting himself onto our bed at 6:30am.

Or how when I make him a snack, he continues standing there with an expectant look on his face and says Buck Buck? until I make his sister a snack, too. Which he then delivers to her.

Although, if we’re being honest, I come crazily close to tears almost every day over that one.

My favorite thing about him is when he holds up his hand to be held. Not out in the street– that’s just following the rules. But when he does it walking around the house? Or at the breakfast table, just sitting holding my hand?

It does me in.

Do big boys hold their mamas’ hands?

Someone say yes.

Did you know?

Did you know?

This is Mary Bullock’s favorite phrase, and it’s always followed by some bit of knowledge she believes you cannot live another moment of your life without understanding. If you have spent any significant time with her, you know this. You probably want to tell her to stick a sock in it. I feel you.

But she really does know a lot. Like, the other night, while “reading” to Bo on my bed:

Bo, did you know? Everything dies. It’s a part of nature.

Also? We have to do everything Mommy says. It’s a part of nature.


Dare I call her a genius?

Another First Day

If you’re feeling like a walk down memory lane, here’s an oldie for you.

I saw this picture in a frame at Lee’s parents house last week and commented on how I just couldn’t believe that Mary Bullock used to look like this! And then today, on another first day, I remembered that she pretty much still looks like that.

Weird. [I swear we didn’t ask her to make that face, either. It’s just her back-to-school face, I think.]

The big difference is that now she has more than just a backpack to take to school with her.

She has her Bobo, too.

Oh, my Bo.

He did not appreciate being dropped off this morning. I actually watched him cry and did not cry myself. It’s so different the second time. But I was so proud of him when I picked him up, and I made sure to give him lots of kisses. There are quite a few boys in his class this year, which is awesome. He needs some playmates that don’t cover him in Pretty Pretty Princess jewelry and paint his toenails.

This picture makes me laugh because when I look at it, I think that in his head he is saying: Mama. You said there were doughnuts. Where. Are. The Doughnuts?

[Bo has a few words up his sleeve, but I’m mostly still filling in the blanks.]

So, the first day of school is officially under our belts. By the time I have a routine for getting us all out the door on time with all of our various baggage, it will be time for New Baby to make his appearance. Then I guess we’ll just be lucky to get there, baggage or no!

Hope you all and your littles had a great first day, too!

Every Day a Wedding Day

Last Christmas I bought Lee a print from Tastes Orangey.  It’s the sort of thing I always admire, but rarely buy. Mostly because I can never really imagine where it would go in our house, weirdly situated as it is with a gazillion windows and doorways.

But when I saw this one print, my thought was: oh.

And before I could re-think it, I had purchased it. I didn’t know if he would like it, as it’s definitely not the sort of thing he would purchase. But I wrapped it and put it under the tree and held my breath.

Thankfully, he got it.

When I took it to have it framed, my framer, just trying to make conversation I think, said: So! What is it?

And we had just met a moment before. So, I sort of stumbled over my answer– I’m actually not sure what I said. It was probably dumb.

But the answer in my heart was: It’s us.

Then we finally, finally hung it on the wall in our den, recently reconfigured into a den-office-playroom-only-room-in-our-house-for-guests-to-sit-room. Which brings us back to the print.

Its title is Capsized. I bought it in early December. By early January, we realized that in whatever ways we thought life in our house might have been tough before, it was about to get tougher by a measure of one more baby. For those keeping count, that’s a total of three babies. In what is–essentially– a two bedroom house.  Rack room on the ship has gotten tight, y’all.

But here’s what we’ve got: two [soon to be three] children who make us laugh every day. A dog who has learned to get creative with his lounging space. A comfortable place for everyone to rest. Each other.

And that’s enough.

Happy 8th Birthday to our little family!

Oh, Hello There!

Kind of disappeared on you for a minute, didn’t I?

I mean, I didn’t really disappear. Because it would be really hard to make something my size disappear.

Let me summarize myself for you, since I will not be posting a belly pic or in fact any pic of any square inch of myself until I look less like…well, less like I do now. I’ll save you my attempts at a humorous description.

My ribs hurt.

I waddle.

My bare belly looks like a fat suit like in the movies. Except at least those things usually have belly buttons.

Mary Bullock has taken to telling everyone she sees that MY MOMMY’S GOT SPIDA VEINS. Truth.

Don’t get me started on my face. My friend Kate told me last night that I looked tan. Oh, how I wish this were a tan and not a totally unfunny side effect of pregnancy that I swear my mother hid from me on purpose so that I would actually have children one day.

When people ask me if there might be a fourth, I just have to laugh. Um, no. It’s going to take me the rest of this decade just to set my body back to rights again. My goal is to resemble the person that Lee married by the time I’m 40. It’s a tight deadline.

But enough about me.

Let me tell you about the babies.

They’re a mess. A happy mess, but still a mess. You probably heard how they covered their room in baby powder before 6:30am on my birthday. Their high jinx never cease. I’ve not yet figured out whether they are more diabolical together or separately. When they’re working against each other, I can usually count on tears from either or both parties. When they’re working together, though, there’s usually a gigantic mess for me to clean up afterwards. Dining room walls covered in chalk drawings. A flooded bathroom floor. Bosey with painted toenails [and face and ears]. Every shoe I own dumped into the middle of my closet.

At the beginning of the summer, I thought I would go crazy if I had to break up one more fight. Instead they’ve just gotten bigger, closer, and more adept at impishness.

I think to myself that I might prefer them crying.

Except I don’t. Not really.

They’re pretty cute little imps, at least.

School starts next week, and I’m with all the other mothers who are counting down the days until I can have some peace and quiet and a clean house for a few hours a day. But I’m also going to miss them and all of their tricks.

New Baby and I will have to think of some shenanigans to get into all on our own.

Like, napping.

Yes, that will be his first lesson.