Wilbur James

It's been awhile since I've posted so I have to share some cute stories about Wilbur.

He is the most hilarious little guy. He seems way older than 2, as he has two older brothers to watch, and he seems to have a handle on everything a lot earlier.

For example, we took the kids to Chuck E. Cheese's last month, and as we were inserting tickets into the ticket cruncher to redeem them for crappy, useless prizes, Wilbur drifted over to the prize counter and peered through the glass.

"Wilbur?! What is he doing?" Kyle asked, concerned we'd lose him in the crowd.

But he came back a minute later and informed us of the following: "I need a chocwate wowipop."

Just like that. Like, "Uh, guys, I'm gonna need a chocolate lollipop now, so make that happen!" I was wondering where he thought I was going to pull a lollipop from when I realized they had Tootsie Pops at the prize counter!

So not only did the kid (who, by the way, can't possibly REMEMBER his last trip to Chuck E. Cheese) figure out the entire ticket system and go over on purpose to pick his prize, he also knew that Tootsie Pops have "chocwate" in them. I mean, wow. I think Owen might still have been screaming in terror at the sight of Churck E. at that age.

Another example of his initiative is the day he put himself down for a nap. We had been running errands all morning and he was super tired. I was hauling groceries in from the garage, and noticed he was missing. Then I heard that his white noise machine was on and his door was shut, and sure enough, when I peeked in, there he was, snuggled up with his blankie and sucking his thumb.

He tells hilarious knock-knock jokes, of his own devising. Here are a couple:

Knock Knock.
Who's there?
Awesome.
Awesome who?
Awesome me.

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Upside down.
Upside down who?
Upside down poop.

With such a knack for out-of-the-box comedy, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that his little potty, the one I had such great hopes of him using to put me out of the diaper buying game, is only used as a stage for his performances of Wiggles tunes, sung and played on his "ta-guitar."

"Well," my mom said philosophically, as Wilbur took the potty like a rock star and blared "play your tatair with Murray!" in the background, "He is performing on the potty, though it isn't quite the performance you were hoping for."

Of course, the ONE THING he doesn't pick up on early is potty training!!! Arggh!!! Really, Wilbur, I would've taken the potty training over any of your other quirky precocities! I could've lived without your knowing what a beer bottle looks like and liking-nay, LOVING- the taste of beer! Or your freakish knowledge of what Scooby Doo said and in which episode he said it! Or your ability to sing along with every song on the radio, even if it's the first time you've heard it! All this I could've lived without, if only you were potty trained. Or close. Or interested. Or had gone on the potty even one time by accident. But, alas.

However, he is a sweet little guy- and although far from perfect, he is FAR more obedient than my others were at that age. He will sit still for nail cleanings and tooth brushings, and even sat very still when I had to pull a million tiny barbs out of his hand on Halloween after he grabbed a cactus. "Mommy," he said, very seriously. "That flower hurt me."

"I know, baby. That was a cactus," I said, my eyes suddenly welling up because he is so precious- and he just keeps changing. The pain in his hand had taught him another lesson- the meaning of "cactus"- and he will never confuse one with a flower again.

Sensation by sensation, word by word, he is growing up- and as grateful as I am for that, I can't help but want to hold on to him NOW.

I guess that's why I wrote this.

Stew 2008

Stew 2007

Stew 2005

Stew 2003

If You Know My Mother You'll Find This Funny! (If not, you probably won't get it)

Moms sometimes tell me that they are turning into their own mothers.

Usually this realization is brought on by certain words coming out of their mouths that sound all too familiar- words like “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about!” or “Starving kids in Ethiopia would be grateful to eat this asparagus!”

For me, the realization has come slowly, a dim awareness creeping over me like a fog.

I felt its chill the first time I gardened in my church clothes, spattering mud and water all over my skirt and crusting dirt under my fingernails right before Sunday services.

It breathed down my neck when I took the dog for a walk in a bathrobe and bright red rain boots.

A note on the toilet telling visitors to “Use Pencil to Flush” (our old toilet handle broke so for a while we had to lift the tank lid and trip the mechanism with a pencil) brought me a step closer to Melissa Finifrock-dom.

“Fixing” my car stereo with duct tape and a bungee cord was ALMOST a breakthrough moment…

But it was not until today when I took the kids for a bike ride to Ralph’s, bought a dozen eggs, then knelt on the cement and ripped the carton in half in order to stack them into my cooler that I realized… I AM MY MOTHER.

Just Semantics

A conversation I overheard last week between Stewart and his friend Jimmie...

Jimmie: My scooter is crying.

Stewart: Scooters don't cry, Jimmie.

Jimmie: They do when you chop them up into little pieces! (suddenly noticing me) Sarah, Stewart said he's going to chop my scooter up into little pieces!

Stewart: (calmly) No I didn't. (Pause). I said I was going to cut it into little pieces.