Thoughts on a Curve

"What should I blog about?" I asked Evan. Because he's always good for a conversation. Except when he's sleeping.

"Eeehhh. Guh gggkkkgoo. Aaaoooooo eehhhh." he authoritatively answered.

So there is that.

~I'm daily astounded by how fast he's growing. It didn't seem to go this fast when Jonah was this age. I feel like I'm always getting out the next size of clothing for him, or dressing him in something that's too small today, though I'm sure it just fit yesterday. (Which... while I'm glad to be able to just get out the next box, it's also a little hard to manage. I only keep enough clothing to fit in one storage bin per size, so I try to stay on top of sorting out the excess and excessively worn. I've been given clothes at an alarming rate lately, and I'm grateful, but it's getting hard to keep up with.)

~It's really amazing what are counted accomplishments to these little people. Evan succeeds in getting a toy to his mouth and Jonah discovers that 5+0+0+0 still equals five? We celebrate.





~And the frustrations are magnified proportionally as well. Not being able to grab your elusive toes? Not getting your way all the time? Being set down on the floor insead of carried? Having only two chapters read to you instead of five? Explosive.

~I am praying for some patience in dealing with the increasingly-complex needs and training of a kid who thinks himself to be more of an adult every day. Where did this attitude come from? This bull-dogging persistence? The desire to understand everything all at once and simultaneous conviction the he knows it all already? I tend to get so frustrated and short with him and then I realize that that attitude? Is myself in the mirror. Ugh. Then I feel a little sick, wonder how i can fix it, and then snap at him again five minutes later. Jonah has been intense and high-maintenance since the day he was born and it only seems to increase as he gets older.

~Companionship. That's the flip-side. A precocious five-year-old makes a good little buddy. We do barn chores together every night as we chatter and look for stars and constellations in the clear, cold, night's sky. We race every chore all day-- laundry, dishwasher, floor pickup... All I have to say is, "I'm gonna beat you!" and the game's on. He's more and more getting to the stage of boyhood where he intends to be a man and sees no obstacles to that goal.





~I do hope that someday I'll be able to think in a straight line again.

~Last night, for the first time in weeks and weeks and maybe even months, Evan slept more than three hours at a time. In fact, he slept for SIX. And so did I. And it was wonderful. See, last week I took him to see my trusty chiropractor. In three minutes flat, she fixed up his neck, and just like that, he's more content and sleeping better. I heart my chiropractor. In fact, I think I want a bumpersticker to that effect. I don't know how I'd survive parenthood without her.

~I wish I had a housekeeper. I wish I could just focus on the fun parts. I wish I could get more things done, yet slow down just a little. Sometimes I wish I could paint, or play the piano, but I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it; I'm swamped. (Kidding! Name that movie.)

~Then I go kiss some cheeks and I don't wish anything anymore.