When we got home from church today, Abe took some pictures of Liam in his new suit and I got to get in on the action. I am posting this for two reason: 1) I like my legs, and 2) Ya'll haven't seen my black hair yet, have you?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Black haired woman.
When we got home from church today, Abe took some pictures of Liam in his new suit and I got to get in on the action. I am posting this for two reason: 1) I like my legs, and 2) Ya'll haven't seen my black hair yet, have you?
Liam: 12 Months
Dear Sweet Liam,
It's been quite a year, hasn't it? First you came to our home as a newborn baby, a skinny little creature with a never-ending appetite. And then you had that scary bout with pneumonia, and you were a sick little baby, with tubes in your nose and needles jammed in your head and feet and arms. And now you have grown into our fat little prince, an oversized infant who loves to be carried around like royalty.
And through these long months-- and no, as we've struggled to adjust to the demands of caring for two little people, it hasn't been a short year-- there has been a continual stream of spit-up (though that has finally dissipated!), a lot of yellow poop explosions (these have only increased), a great deal of nursing (we're cutting back on that one), and very little nighttime sleeping. And this has all been okay because-- most importantly-- you have been there through it all: Sweet William, our darling, smiley, cuddly, chubby, sweetly stubborn bundle of goodness and softness and milk and honey.
You are special, my little boy, and you are loved.
Thank you for sharing your year with us.
Love,
Mommy
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
It's been quite a year, hasn't it? First you came to our home as a newborn baby, a skinny little creature with a never-ending appetite. And then you had that scary bout with pneumonia, and you were a sick little baby, with tubes in your nose and needles jammed in your head and feet and arms. And now you have grown into our fat little prince, an oversized infant who loves to be carried around like royalty.
And through these long months-- and no, as we've struggled to adjust to the demands of caring for two little people, it hasn't been a short year-- there has been a continual stream of spit-up (though that has finally dissipated!), a lot of yellow poop explosions (these have only increased), a great deal of nursing (we're cutting back on that one), and very little nighttime sleeping. And this has all been okay because-- most importantly-- you have been there through it all: Sweet William, our darling, smiley, cuddly, chubby, sweetly stubborn bundle of goodness and softness and milk and honey.
You are special, my little boy, and you are loved.
Thank you for sharing your year with us.
Love,
Mommy
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
Liam's First Birthday
On February 25th, my baby turned one.
We had a party and the usual suspects showed up.
We had a party and the usual suspects showed up.
(No, I'm not sure why I'm sneering at Calysta.)Then we opened gifts:
Hillary and Briar gave him a card,
Grandma and Grandpa Hanson bought him some nice clothes,
Soren helped him figure out his new toy,
and Big Marty offered his protection.
However, Liam's favorite gift was a plastic tag that came on the toy.Then it was time for cake and ice cream.
Soren eagerly assisted,
and Liam eagerly demolished his own piece, though he (of course) refrained from consuming any of the vile solid substance.It was a good day.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
And they called it cracker love.
Yesterday Liam grabbed a graham cracker off the table during snack time. Mind you, he didn't want to eat said cracker. He just wanted to hold it and look at it. And he held and admired that graham cracker for a very long time. Everything the graham cracker did delighted him. He waved it through the air and laughed. A little chunk broke off in his chubby fist, fell down, and hit him in the eye; he squealed in delight. He held the graham cracker close to his face, he held it far away. He turned it this way and that.
I was putting Soren to bed when Daddy finally took the graham cracker away from him. I heard the screaming and thought that maybe Liam had been dropped and cracked his head open. Then I realized that his heart had been opened by a cracker, then dropped.
I shouldn't be allowed to blog after 10 pm.
I was putting Soren to bed when Daddy finally took the graham cracker away from him. I heard the screaming and thought that maybe Liam had been dropped and cracked his head open. Then I realized that his heart had been opened by a cracker, then dropped.
I shouldn't be allowed to blog after 10 pm.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The grown-ups.
My life, in a nutshell, goes something like this: Monday through Friday I wake up, take care of the boys, and go to work. I work really hard for eight hours. Then I come home, eat dinner (prepared by Hillary, peace be upon her forever and ever), put the kids to bed, do a little shuffle-cleaning, exercise a little, read a little, giggle with Abe a little, and then crash. I usually wake up twice a night to feed Liam. Then lather, rinse, and repeat. Saturdays involve laundry, errands, a date with Abe, and (if I'm really lucky) mopping and vacuuming. Sundays are swallowed up by church, a blessed nap, and family dinner. Then back to Monday. I'm tired, but generally happy. I love my kids, I love my husband, I love my job. I just wish I could spend more time with all of them. And also, with me.
Abe is keeping busy with the kids and continuing with his master's degree. He's taking web design, library management, and somethingorother else. Nine masters credits is a lot, my friends, believe me. But he copes with it well. Were our roles reversed, I think I would be shredding paper in a corner of the Behavioral Health Center by now, but Abe is good at school. His free time is spent reading technology blogs, the news, and thrillers. He also likes to play computer games.
Abe is keeping busy with the kids and continuing with his master's degree. He's taking web design, library management, and somethingorother else. Nine masters credits is a lot, my friends, believe me. But he copes with it well. Were our roles reversed, I think I would be shredding paper in a corner of the Behavioral Health Center by now, but Abe is good at school. His free time is spent reading technology blogs, the news, and thrillers. He also likes to play computer games.
Liam Update
Little Liam.
Yum Yum (I call him this because that's kind of what his name sounds like when Soren pronounces it) still kind of thinks that he's two months old. At almost twelve months, Liam isn't crawling, scooting, or cruising. He clamps his little lips together at the sight of solid foods. And he hasn't even considered the possibility that he might be able to form words with that sweet little mouth of his. He still squeals and squeaks. This should probably concern me, and it does, a little, but I'm pretty sure he's not so much delayed as he is...content. And stubborn.
My little Liam.
He is a bundle of smiles and sweetness that can fill a person from top to bottom with the golden warmth of a sunny day and a dripping honeycomb. He is warm and squishy and smells like milk and baby lotion. He has sweet pillow cheeks and there is something about kissing his little head-- oh my goodness, his sweet fuzzy knobby little head!--that makes me want to bottle him up and keep him this little forever.
Yum Yum (I call him this because that's kind of what his name sounds like when Soren pronounces it) still kind of thinks that he's two months old. At almost twelve months, Liam isn't crawling, scooting, or cruising. He clamps his little lips together at the sight of solid foods. And he hasn't even considered the possibility that he might be able to form words with that sweet little mouth of his. He still squeals and squeaks. This should probably concern me, and it does, a little, but I'm pretty sure he's not so much delayed as he is...content. And stubborn.
My little Liam.
He is a bundle of smiles and sweetness that can fill a person from top to bottom with the golden warmth of a sunny day and a dripping honeycomb. He is warm and squishy and smells like milk and baby lotion. He has sweet pillow cheeks and there is something about kissing his little head-- oh my goodness, his sweet fuzzy knobby little head!--that makes me want to bottle him up and keep him this little forever.
Soren Update
Soren is Soren. He's just so very....Soreny. There's really no one in the world like him, I'm pretty sure. Approximately 50 times a day he asks me what my name is. Considering that I'm only home for, like, 4 hours a day, that's a lot. Frequently I'll say something like, "My name is Jemimah Louisa Alexander," and he'll be like, "No it's not! It's Mommy Kafween Skousen!"
A week or two after Christmas, Soren asked me if I thought that I might get a p**** (name of body part omitted for internet safety) for Christmas next year. He seems to feel sorry that I'm the only one in the family without one of of those particular body parts. (Just for the record, however, I do not feel one ounce of sorrow for this particular lack, Freud's crazy theories notwithstanding.)
Also, once when I was rocking him with my eyes closed, he shoved his face right into my face and whispered loudly, "Wake up! It's Scrisscruss!" ("Scrisscruss" being his pronunciation of "Christmas." "Scrisscruss orbins" means "Christmas ornaments.)
Soren has become very imaginative lately. He's always conjuring up imaginary friends and bringing them places with us. One morning last week, for example, he informed me that a very nice rooster had kept him safe last night. He invited the rooster and his mommy to breakfast, and we had a very nice conversation. He also had the following exchange with his daddy last week:
Soren: "Daddy, you a balloon."
Daddy: "Uh oh! You popped me."
Soren: "I put you in the garbage."
Daddy: "If you put me in the garbage, I'll get taken away by the garbage truck. Then you'll never see me again."
Soren, after thinking for a moment: "That's okay. Hillwy give me hugs."
He fell on the kitchen floor last week and hurt his face. A short while later he came back and put some duct tape on the spot where he had fallen because he was worried his fall had hurt the floor.
Soren also has a penchant for mitten-wearing. His favorite thing to do is put, like, five mittens on one hand and keep the other one bare. Like a preschool version of Michael Jackson.
He says "Oh! Thank you" a lot. Gratitude is one of his strengths.
If he wants something I have, sometimes he'll ask, "Mommy? Are you a sharing girl?"
He calls Kleenexes "buggy napkins."
He took his toy shopping cart to the grocery store with Abraham and me the other evening. He pushed it right through those automatic doors, strutted up to the cookie table, confidently plopped a box of cookies into his cart, walked on, and grabbed for another box of cookies. It was ADORABLE to see him walking through the store with his tiny little cart. Everyone was gushing about what a cute little helper he was. In the end, he ended up pushing his cart through the checkout line, where he hoisted a box of graham crackers, a bottle of cough syrup, and (yes) a package of cookies up over his head and onto the conveyor belt. The cashier thought he was so cute she gave him a balloon. The woman clearly has good taste.
A week or two after Christmas, Soren asked me if I thought that I might get a p**** (name of body part omitted for internet safety) for Christmas next year. He seems to feel sorry that I'm the only one in the family without one of of those particular body parts. (Just for the record, however, I do not feel one ounce of sorrow for this particular lack, Freud's crazy theories notwithstanding.)
Also, once when I was rocking him with my eyes closed, he shoved his face right into my face and whispered loudly, "Wake up! It's Scrisscruss!" ("Scrisscruss" being his pronunciation of "Christmas." "Scrisscruss orbins" means "Christmas ornaments.)
Soren has become very imaginative lately. He's always conjuring up imaginary friends and bringing them places with us. One morning last week, for example, he informed me that a very nice rooster had kept him safe last night. He invited the rooster and his mommy to breakfast, and we had a very nice conversation. He also had the following exchange with his daddy last week:
Soren: "Daddy, you a balloon."
Daddy: "Uh oh! You popped me."
Soren: "I put you in the garbage."
Daddy: "If you put me in the garbage, I'll get taken away by the garbage truck. Then you'll never see me again."
Soren, after thinking for a moment: "That's okay. Hillwy give me hugs."
He fell on the kitchen floor last week and hurt his face. A short while later he came back and put some duct tape on the spot where he had fallen because he was worried his fall had hurt the floor.
Soren also has a penchant for mitten-wearing. His favorite thing to do is put, like, five mittens on one hand and keep the other one bare. Like a preschool version of Michael Jackson.
He says "Oh! Thank you" a lot. Gratitude is one of his strengths.
If he wants something I have, sometimes he'll ask, "Mommy? Are you a sharing girl?"
He calls Kleenexes "buggy napkins."
He took his toy shopping cart to the grocery store with Abraham and me the other evening. He pushed it right through those automatic doors, strutted up to the cookie table, confidently plopped a box of cookies into his cart, walked on, and grabbed for another box of cookies. It was ADORABLE to see him walking through the store with his tiny little cart. Everyone was gushing about what a cute little helper he was. In the end, he ended up pushing his cart through the checkout line, where he hoisted a box of graham crackers, a bottle of cough syrup, and (yes) a package of cookies up over his head and onto the conveyor belt. The cashier thought he was so cute she gave him a balloon. The woman clearly has good taste.
Busy Momma
I'm way overdue for updates about the boys, but I keep on putting them off because I want to do them "right," as in carefully crafted prosy descriptions of the boys' antics and milestones, reflections on motherhood, bits of humor, and cute accompanying pictures.
Right. Like that will ever happen.
If there's one thing life has taught me so far, it's that if you want to get stuff done, sometimes you have to be content with doing it poorly. So here it is: my blog, a sloppily-pulled-together, overly long descriptions of our recent lives, frequently sans pictures, because we haven't remembered to take any pictures, and if you don't like it, you can go read one of those other damn blogs where the layout looks like a friggin' scrapbook and the kids are all ahead on their developmental milestones.
A Story, by Soren
"Sit on my wap, Mommy. I gonna tell you a stowwy."
Mommy, sitting down on the rocking chair in front of Soren, snuggles into Soren's little arms and says, "Okay, Soren. Tell me a story."
"Once upon a time! Mommy was playing with a stroller and put a hole in the wall and ran away to grandma's house but Charlene scratched her so she went upstairs and then Rachel Kafween Skousen. The! End!"
Mommy, sitting down on the rocking chair in front of Soren, snuggles into Soren's little arms and says, "Okay, Soren. Tell me a story."
"Once upon a time! Mommy was playing with a stroller and put a hole in the wall and ran away to grandma's house but Charlene scratched her so she went upstairs and then Rachel Kafween Skousen. The! End!"
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