Post-Script to the Freeze-Frame

He was at it again this morning. 

Freeze-Frame: Now That He Uses Words More Often...

...I can see inside his head.

(And it's a funny place.)

I was getting dressed for the day, Pip chewing on a toy bulldozer at my feet and Tadhg muttering to himself as he circled our bed. He was holding his Very Special Christmas Stocking Chapstick in his hand. At first, I thought he was applying chapstick to the Very Special Quilt my mom made Rundy and I for our wedding, but surreptitious observation led to other conclusions.

Tadhg, hummingbird-like, was studying the brightly-colored scrappy bits of vintage floral fabric all over the quilt and going from one scrap to another to get himself "drinks." The chapstick was his cup, and he would dip it into whatever fabric struck his fancy, then say to himself, "Drink! F'owers. Water." before lifting his chapstick chalice to his lips and slurping away like a tippler.

February Grab-Bag

(Tadhg uses the walker more than Pippin. It's his car, you see. And on occasion, his tractor.)

And to finish it off, one last video that won't imbed for long, complicated reasons that are boring and I won't go into (you're welcome).

Valentine's Day 2020

This was an especially good Valentine's Day.

We went on a family date: Wegmans (for tractor carts, trains suspended from the ceiling, and the candy aisle); IHOP (for sausage and for chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream faces); and Sweet Frog (for the bajillion toppings to put on your ice cream).

Pictures are few, but memories are aplenty.

_________________

Beautiful words are elusive

When a baby son is crawling 

Under the stool I sit on

And an older son is shoveling 

the numberless wood chips 

Huddling around our stove

With his front loader,

Back and forth and around

In smudgy, dusty swirls.

Words at all—any words—

are difficult to catch 

And harder to keep

Long enough to pin down.

But perhaps all the words 

I could ever find to say

Are already written

in their growing limbs, 

Are already stumbling

From a toddler’s tongue

And are bouncing

Through one brightly colored room

Littered with toys to another

In this home we have built

Together, you and I—

These crooked walls

And angled floors 

Become our own cathedral,

Its homely dome echoing

With the praise offered up

By earthly love and ordinary lives.

Writer and Grocery List: A Study

He's Irish, Alright

Grandma Johnson instituted a new tradition. The past several times she's been here for Monday night supper, we put on some reels for jigging and she and Tadhg turn fleet-footed.

Well, recently Tadhg's been requesting it. And requesting it again.

Jigs with Mama during the day.

Jigs with Daddy as soon as he gets home from work.

Watch out Michael Flatley. He's coming for you.

The Best of Brothers

Young Tarzan

Wild. Free. Broken windshield wiper-wielding.

But also sometimes domestic.

(Apron worn by Tarzan's request.)

Orchids

I have two orchids in our bedroom.

One was given to me in the fall of 2014, just after Dad died. It has bloomed for me faithfully twice a year, all this time.

The other, The Orchid of Tailbone-Breaking Infamy, was given to me by my Rundy for Valentine's Day just before Tadhg was born. It, too, has been a nice regular bloomer ever since.

Aren't they lovely?

The Island

Our kitchen has been in varying stages of renovation since we got married. The skeleton of our kitchen island was a great attraction for Tadhg in his babyhood, and its appeal has only grown with age. Over the past couple of weeks, Rundy has slowly been chipping away at installing flooring and sides and drawers. The island as we all know it is disappearing bit by bit.

A functional island for the mama?

Or a jungle gym, snack spot, cat-relationship-building venue, and all-around hangout location for the boys?

It's a toss-up, really.

We will miss you, Barely-There Island. We will miss you.

Nine Months of Pippin

I never knew nine months could whiz by so fast. Pippin is a blessed addition to life here in the little house.

He jabbers. He army crawls with great efficiency, propelling himself forward with a vigorous left-armed lunge. He pulls himself to stand with reckless abandon for life and limb. Pretty sure he's going to be my heart-attack boy; he has absolutely no body awareness and forgets to hold on to whatever is keeping him upright when he gets distracted (which is often). He has become obsessed with walking and goes ramrod straight when you try to put him down to give your back a rest. He has six teeth in his little mouth and--unrelated, really--has decided that food is delicious rather than an assault upon his person. He continues to have a passionate love affair with lights (the higher the wattage the better, unfortunately); love is blind, as they say. He regularly gives Munchkin the Cat practice with being long-suffering. He still can't figure out how to get out of a sitting position.

Pip, you are our clumsy little sweetling, the best there ever was.

I forgot how hard it is to attempt posed photographs of a 9 month old. They all turn out like this...

...or this.

Blurriness is inevitable.

And my not-too-great phone camera doesn't help. (But hey, it's quick and convenient. And that's no small thing.)

Peekaboo Baby.

Somebody got jealous that he wasn't the center of attention. (That's one large 9 month old.)

And here's a bunch from earlier in the month to round it all out.