Serenity now...

Okay...so the mystery of the mystery fever has been solved. Apparently Evan has a double ear infection...and a virus of some sort (which, I guess, is still a mystery--although the doctor thinks it's probably a cold).

I'm home with the little guy today. He's actually fairly ticked off at this point because he's been home since Tuesday afternoon. He misses school. He keeps running to the door...requesting his shoes and his jacket ("soo, soo...jacket on...jacket on").

What can I say...that Maria Montessori was on to something...

Bad Hair Day...

Sure...we all have them. Poor Evan's was made worse today by the fact that he desperately needs a hair cut...and the poor little guy has been fighting a mystery fever the past couple of days. I guess the night sweats molded his too-long cowlicky hair into the wonderment you see here.

Blogged for posterity. The kid will get even with me someday. Probably by choosing a really crappy nursing home with a picture-window view of the Precious Moments wedding chapel (which...for those of you who know me...would truly be punishment).

Off to go cuddle with Evan and make nice... :) :) :) :)


Thoughts for the day:

If Grampy were still alive, today would have been his and Grammy's 70th wedding anniversary. Amazing, isn't it?

Evan just brought me my "Parenting with Love and Logic" book off the bookshelf. Do you suppose I should get off the internet and pay some attention to him? Is he trying to tell me something?

To Evan...

Dear Evan,

You are almost two...my how time flies! I watch you running around, figuring things out, forming words, and flashing grins...and I can't believe you are the same little boy I carried inside me. You were so tiny then. Your daddy and I wanted you SO much. Your birth was not the picture-perfect story it should have been. But you're a fighter. You impressed the nurses at the NICU with your fiesty spirit and your mighty attitude. You were 3 lbs., 10 oz. of pure perserverance. You had to learn to eat...and we taught you. I cried the first time you took 10 sucks from the bottle without stopping...another victory in a long line of victories.

We brought you home...and we became a family. Our home was complete... You had a monitor then...and your parents were terrified, Evan. Terrified of losing you, terrified of upsetting the delicate balance that WAS you, terrified to let you cry too long (the NICU nurses warned us you'd burn calories and possibly lose weight). The heartbeat lullabye CD was our best friend...it and blankets warmed in the dryer calmed you.

Soon we found our groove. You and I watched crappy television while I was home with you. Countless hours of TLC...and "Yes, Dear." Sometimes you sat in your bouncy seat...sometimes you laid on my chest. It was all okay. Every night at about 5 or 6:00 you'd get upset. Daddy and I would rock you...pat your bottom (which you loved)...and tell you it would all be alright. Sometimes you'd fall asleep sitting up--our hands under your chin. You outgrew the fussiness...but thankfully you didn't outgrow needing us. Yet.

I went back to work...and you went to daycare. And you thrived there. We continually got reports on how good-natured you were...and how much they loved you. It was no surprise to us...since we'd loved you before you were born. Your quirky personality engaged all those who knew you...even as an infant. You had a love of shoes...and you would study each and every one that came into the infant room...much to the delight of your teachers and the shoe wearers.

You're not an infant any more. You're a full-fledged toddler. You have your independence. You still love and need me...but you are also blissfully self-reliant. You can tell me when you're hungry...and when you want "mo' milk." I love seeing you "becoming." I love seeing the Evan that is separate from Bryan and Rena. I love seeing your mind work as you solve all the riddles that life offers. And I love hearing you laugh...and point when we go past trains...("shoo, shoo").

You still love shoes...and you LOVE books. I think you would let me read to you for hours.

And I love you, little one. I love you.

Things you can't learn from parenting books...

1. Ketchup turns green beans into tasty dipping treats (see Exhibit A, Mr. Ketchupy face).









2. A $.79 box of drinking straws provides a million dollars worth of distraction (so mommy can finish cooking lunch).
















3. Plastic microwave dishes make a lot less noise banging around than pots and pans.

A case of mistaken "pot"dentity...

So our boy loves his potty, right? He shrieks "potty, potty" gleefully when he sees it. He flushes it. He takes it apart. He drags it into the hall. Yet he has no EARTHLY idea what it's for. He just know it hides in the bathroom...waiting for him before bath time.

We haven't started potty training yet. He's definitely not ready...and I'm in no hurry to step into that ring of purgatory at this time.

The truly amusing part about his "potty" is that it's one of those cool little kid urinals. Supposed to make potty training a breeze for little boys, they say. Much easier than the sit down potties, they say.

Well "they" haven't met Evan. It might be a breeze for other boys...but our little guy wants to SIT IN THE URINAL. Methinks someone spends too much time with his mommy.
As long as he's potty-trained before high school...I'm content.

Doodlebug in the garden...

So I'm in the mood to plant some stuff, right? It was a beautiful evening, and so the little guy and I headed to a local nursery to pick up a few plants--tomato, squash, zucchini--the important stuff. He LOVED running around, smelling all the flowers, and ducking under the tables (which the owner thought was WAY cuter than I did...) Everything went very smoothly until Evan grabbed the tent pole and stepped right into a flat of beautiful begonias. Fortunately my superhuman shriek of "NOOOOOOOOOOO" was enough to keep him from planting the other foot in.

Don't believe I've ever asked him to "tell the flowers you're sorry" before.
So tonight (after our nutritious dinner at Taco Casa) I decided that we'd putter around the yard. It was Evan's first foray into gardening...and he did pretty well (despite pushing that &*%^&* plastic car around the yard most of the evening). He stopped doing the really cute stuff when I grabbed the camera (i.e. trying to use the spade, whisking the rake and Garden Weasel around, throwing weeds in the leaf bag). I did get a few shots of him with his trowel and beloved automobile.
I expect him to be mowing the lawn by age 3.

Daredevil...

So the other day I got one of those cool formy-signy things that the Montessori gives out. You know...the dreaded "incident report." Evan had fallen off the big, tall, tricycle out on the playground and bumped his noggin. Apparently the little guy refuses to ride the smaller tricycles...he just cries when they put him on them. Nevertheless, the official cool formy-signy thing said that the recommended course of action was to "encourage Evan to ride the smaller trikes."

Yesterday when I picked him up, of course he was riding the big, tall, tricycle as another little boy pushed him around (his feet don't reach the pedals). Sigh. Good thing the kid has a hard head.

P.S. Words Evan says that I love right now: Table (sounds like tehbull when he says it), and "HUG, HUG, HUG"...usually when I'm changing his clothes and he needs to pause for some affection. :)