In the event that your children treat your sewing machine (Singer/White brand) with the same reverence they would a brand new coloring book, or, say, a box of cheerios, and your tension is thrown out of whack, and you break a knob while trying to fix the tension, and it happens to be an older sewing machine that was gifted to you, and you don’t have the owner’s manual to tell you you’re an idiot, go here and get it free, instead of buying it on Ebay for $10 and having to wait 5-10 business days for it to arrive. If your mom, who has mucho years sewing machine experience on you, is there to help, that’s a big bonus, too.
There’s that. Just nothing to do with the rest of the takes, but there you go.
We have entered into a period of insanity here at Bumpy Bridge. I– it’s just chaos. Nothing, NOTHING, goes smoothly. Not that I expect it to anymore, but not even the unexpected surprise of smoothness happens anymore. Even if I prepare the day BEFORE a simple, necessary excursion to the grocery store, three hours and a hurricane -A HURRICANE I TELL YOU- later, we are loading into the car.
This is why I don’t go out.
“Oh my gosh, we should totally go and get coffee some time! Maybe your mom can watch the kids!”
haha… HAHAA! Yeah.
So how are my boys, you might ask?
Collin is finding his voice among our family. It’s loud. It’s shrill.
He crawls faster than my other two evercrawled.
He’s pulling, opening, tearing, climbing; things, drawers, cabinets, stairs.
I delight in the days I awake before he does, and I can sneak out of bed, unscathed.
I grumble at the mornings I am awoken with a head-butt to the nose, or a good old fashioned smack across the face, or awaking to the sound of *slurp, slurp, slurp*, and I crack my eyes open to see him sitting upright, sucking at the end of my phone charger.
He no longer peacefully nurses while I cradle and gaze into his calm little angel face. He stops just short of tap dancing on my head as he nurses- constantly distracted by the thunderous sniffle or slightly heavier huff of breath from one of his older, amazingly interesting brothers. *SCHLOCK!* the sudden suction breakage is a delight, I assure you.
He has amplified the torture of diaper changes with his increased heftiness and will to NOT be okay with wearing pants.
So that’s Collin right now.
Lexington, Mr. Well-Established-Voice. Enjoys playing 50 Questions. Only it’s 1,000,000 Questions. Hourly. And if he doesn’t reach the millionth before the hour is up, he catches up on the next hour.
So as we lumber through the hurricane of leaving the house, salt, pepper and guacamole that fiesta with Lexington’s personal fave.
My Aunt Carla gave me the best advice on how to handle the questioner: say “I don’t know”. It really works. For 5 minutes. But 5>0. I did math right there, see?
Tender Emmett is saying new words each day. Craig said it perfectly when he shared with me, “Every single, little word that comes out of Emmett’s mouth is like a gift.”
Each word he says is as fresh as when he said it for the first time: it is a golden balm to my soul. And I mean that.
My heart starves for the sound of his voice. For the words “I love you” and “Mommy”. It’s selfish of me to crave affirmation from him in the way that his older brother delivers. They are different people. We took Emmett to the doctor and we are being referred to the Children’s Hospital for further examination and possible therapy for placing him on the spectrum that is Autism. His pediatrician assures us that even if Emmett is given an official diagnosis of “autistic” that there’s nothing special to be done with him that we are not already doing. We have been encouraged to continue parenting Emmett in the way that we are, and to encourage Emmett to develop his strengths.
He loves music, knows his letters, numbers (he is delving into counting past 10 now), is learning colors, and things MUST be completed, closed, or buckled.
Craig brought dinner home a few nights ago with a couple Cokes for himself and I. (I know I just wrote a thing about not injecting my body with cancerbeans or malnutritious-ness within my own reasonable means, with the exception of Kenra #25 hairspray. Coke’s on the exception list, too. Sorry. MMM!) We don’t, however, allow our boys to drink caffeinated drinks, and we cut juice with water.
I glanced over and caught Emmett slurping my coke.
In reaction to the carbonation fizzing in his mouth, he stumbled backward, eyes wide and watery, mouth open, Coke dribbling down his front.
Staggering across the living room in surprise, I saw something familiar happen to his face.
Actually, I’ve never seen it in the flesh, I’ve only experienced it within my own being.
If I were to personify what happens to me when I drink an ice cold Coca-Cola, it would be the “Lucy in The Sky With Diamonds” experience Emmett had in the following few seconds:
His eyes grew wider, he cocked his head to the side, gazing at the ceiling, hands and palms held out and open from his sides, and he started a slow, dazed twirl.
“Who can take a sun rise
sprinkle it in dew
cover it in chocolate
and make a miracle or two…”
Coc-a-cola can. Coc-a-cola can, man.
That’s it. My boys are awake and Lexington is swimming in his blankets, shouting, “TREASURE! TREASURRRRRRE!”
I gotta go feed the starving minions.
Love and peace to you all this weekend!
GO visit Jen & Co for their Quick Takes. Congrats to Jen for turning in her BOOK with Ignatius Press! FANCY!