I catch some of the memories in my haphazard journal before they slip through the cracks, but so many things are just the stuff of life, lived without record. There's so much I would remember if I could--Tadhg's hardly-intelligible-but-winsome little voice as he tries to wrap his tongue around so many new words with varying degrees of success. His sense of humor. Our jokes. All that he's learning. All the different versions of Pippin-smiles. The way he stops nursing to beam at me.
The book reading.
The endless snuggling.
The problem is that if I recorded All the Things, I would no longer have time to live All the Things. So what sometimes remains for this scrapbooky space is a mere smattering of our beautifully ordinary incoherence.
How to play with your baby brother while he's still a lump:
Fine art.
Tadhg's little feet have rested in just such a fashion since the time he lived inside me.
Hat. Shoes. Proud.
For the curious, this is what birth order looks like.
There is a tragic saga in these parts about Tadhg and the Worms. The tale has much to do with Tadhg's natural suspicion of other living things, and his father's natural disposition to gleefully encourage it.
Tadhg had been happily playing in our de-vegetabled garden with his dump truck while I did dishes and watched him through the window. All of the sudden I heard a stricken cry and quickly went out to check on him, looking for a scrape or bump or some such thing that could've happened while I blinked.
I found him physically unscathed. When asked what was wrong, he pointed to the dirt next to him.
There lay a worm, minding his own business without a thought for the human child he had just traumatized.
I've always had Thoughts about mothers who photograph their crying children, but...
But this time it was non-negotiable.
When company comes, the house gets freshened up. And I love it, despite how short-lived any sort of order is with my baby tornado in the house.
Don't be hoodwinked; things are rarely this peaceful and calm while I'm cleaning the house. But when they are, I snatch a quick video.
Sometimes he's a veritable cherub.
They love each other. A real lot.
They make a pretty cute soundtrack.
Unfortunately, the low light in the room (and the surreptitious nature of the photo-taking) made for a terribly blurry shot. But it's a good one to remember by, nonetheless. Whenever she's able to make it on a Thursday, Grandma Purdy comes to play. As Tadhg has gotten older, this has become more and more of a Momentous Occasion in his mind. Chasing each other around the house, building with blocks, driving dump trucks on the back of the couch, generally having a rollicking good time...
Here's Grandma reading a new book she'd just given Tadhg.
Social play has become a new daily need of Tadhg's. He'll grab Rundy or I by the hand depending on who's home and nearby, say, "Come," and plop himself down on the floor by his toys waiting for us to get some sort of play started. Most often these days, it involves blocks, dump trucks and other wheeled vehicles, and his little rubber animals.
Yep. It's fall.
Tadhg the Manly going out to help Mama bring in firewood.
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