Ode to Jonas

I write this blog to give my kids the history of our lives from my perspective.
I write this blog to record all the little things that happen to us that make up our life together.
I write this blog so they can know what I was thinking when I was thinking it, and why. (although no one may ever understand the "why's").
I write this blog to slightly embarrass my children publicly, because for some reason, I find that enjoyable.

This week I want to take a day highlighting the little things about each person in my family and write a bit about why I love them.

Today:
Jonas.

When he is not making small children scream,

Or giving me some kind of tween drama,

He is pretty awesome.

He is thoughtful, and smart.
       (Every now and then he will let you see it, and you will be reminded of it.)
He is funny, and he appreciates good humor.
      (But for some reason he just doesn't seem to find ME funny, and I am absolutely sure I fall into the good humor category.)

He tries things and gets them right the first time.
       ( I think those who know me can testify he does not get this from me.)
If he does something, he does it big, like, all the way.
        (starting his three year old, stuttering, self spouting off names of dinosaurs I could barely pronounce, to his 11 year old self penning his essays for school that are 10 pages and witty as can be.)
His potential is seriously unlimited.
        (I am patiently waiting for him to realize this.)
He is very polite and respectful.
        (A quality that seems to be non-existent in most boys his age.)

I love this kid.
Obviously.
But more than that, I like him.
I enjoy him.
Even though we seem to find something to argue about on a daily basis, he is a wonderful kid.
The best kind.
He is a great example for those other boys who are constantly looking up at him in a worshipful way.

I think we'll keep him.

my plans for today

I don't cry much.
For a girl.
It just seems like with girls, their emotions are connected to their tear ducts.
In most cases, I am just not that way.
I don't know, but it could have something to do with growing up in a house with 5 brothers.


But at home, after I put the kids to bed for the night, I sit down and turn Oprah on.

And I cry.

I swear I have shed more tears watching episodes of Oprah than I have at any other time in my life.

I cry over the sad stories.
I cry over the reunions.
I cry over people getting surprised.
I cry when people are given life changing things.
I cry over people overcoming overwhelming obstacles.
I cry/laugh over people loosing their minds with excitement.

I have learned watching Oprah.
I have laughed.
I have cried.
I have had my eyes opened.

There just isn't another show on television like it.

So today, I will watch the last episode of Oprah,

And I am fairly confident tears will be involved.

the baby

Recently, This boy turned two:

That gave our little family a chance to reflect on what he means to our family. He provides so much entertainment, as do all toddlers. 

He makes us laugh. 

He is a sponge for learning. He shocks all of us with the stuff he picks up from watching us.

I love how he, inspired by his older brother, drives his cars to a soundtrack in his head: 

His cars move to the sounds of Porter humming Indiana Jones theme song or the Harry Potter theme song. 

I love that his cars speak to each other.

While cooking dinner in the kitchen, I get to listen to him play in the library. Without fail one car will drive up to the other and say, "Hey. How's your day?" And then proceed to crash violently with one another.

I love/hate that cars rule his life, which means we are overrun with cars.
They are everywhere.I am half convinced they are breeding because the collection just seems to grow.
They really hurt to step on.
But I can't help but love it, when I see him so carefully line them up in the order that only makes sense to him.
Cars mean EVERYTHING right now.

The boy is growing. His personality is blossoming.
And the crazy boy behavior is flooding our hearts.
He wrestles.
He spits.
He bites.
He laughs at burps.
He hugs
He kisses.
He cuddles.
He fills our home with happiness.

Most of the time, anyway.

inside my thoughts...

It's been a while since I have seen my husband. 5 weeks, I think.
He is away for work.
I don't really know when he gets back. It could be next week., next month, or in the fall.

My kids miss him.
I miss him.
At the dinner table last night we couldn't get over his empty chair. We talked about how we know what he would say.
We talked about what we miss about him.
We miss his guitar playing. Like a soundtrack to our lives, it's always there.
We miss Tetris Talk. (Tetris talk is where you play Tetris on mute for what seems like an eternity and you have in depth conversations about life.)
We miss his ability to fix stuff, cause I can't.
We miss his truck pulling into the driveway, because that means all the pieces to our family are here. That we are whole.

I can't really articulate it well, other than to say we miss his presence. That our family isn't complete without him, and our daily lives feel it.
It makes me feel for so many women who are the mother and father to their kids every single day.
It makes me feel for the kids who don't have a dad to wait for anymore.
It makes me feel for all the dads out there working for their families (or their country) who would love nothing more than to be home with their families.

Then it makes me grateful.
For so many thoughtful friends and amazing family members to help me.
For Skype and for speaker phone, helping us to feel like a whole family for a few moments every day.
For kids who are wonderful.
For a husband who will do anything for his family.
And for bedtime. I really really love the quiet that comes after bedtime.

And that's what I have been thinking lately.

Fascinating, really.

Dear Husband, week 4:

Today I recieved a first.
Roses at my doorstep. From you. 1,500 miles away.

They are beautiful.
Thank you.
They are almost better than the 17 roses you gave me on my 17th birthday.
As I admired them on our kitchen table, I was compelled to give something back to you.

Remember that tree in the front yard? The one you searched high and low for? The one that took you months to find? That perfect tree?

It's blooming.

Perfectly.

Remember that tree in the back yard? The one you put in the corner by the raspberries? The one I didn't want (but I totally take that back now)? The one you thought we were going to loose last fall?

Well it's blooming too.

Beautifully.

So there you go.
Mothers Day flowers to me. In return to you,  healthy, blossoming trees in a yard that desperately misses you, at a home that is incomplete without you, from a wife who is every day grateful for you.

How's that for payback?

 Love,
Mel

The many faces

Caleb has multiple personalities.

 It started with Tarzan when was 2. We watched that movie every single morning. Then he would run around showing off his best Tarzan yell and commence jumping off anything he could climb swinging on vines, insisting on being addressed as Tarzan.

Then he turned 3. And Buzz Lightyear entered his life.
His whole second year of life was filled with Buzz-isms.
I would ask him to clean his room and I would get, "Not today, Zurg!" as a response.
Everything was to infinity and beyond.
He was Buzz for Halloween and every day after. He wore the costume out. (And for the life of me, I cannot find any photographic evidence of this.)

Then he turned 4. The first half of the year was spent casting spells.

Instense cries of "Stupid-fy!" and "Cavada Cadava!" were heard all hours of the day. He went through several pairs of glasses. Harry Potter was a joy to have around. 

Then superheros entered our life. Particularly Spiderman. 

Spiderman (and peter parker) became his world.

He went to bed every night praying to be bit by a radio active spider, only to disappointedly announce every morning that he could not yet climb walls.

About two months ago, Caleb was introduced to his newest identity:

Indiana Jones.
Indie is strong. He is brave and he has completely taken over our lives.
I love him.
He can be a little embarrassing in the grocery store cursing the Russians or the Nazis when someone is in his way or he doesn't get the candy he is begging for, but other than that he is a delight.

 I love Caleb.
and I love all his personalities.
I love the life it infuses into our home.
And I cannot wait to see who is next.

Dear Husband:

We are currently enduring week number 3 of you being gone. Three down and LOTS more to go.

We miss you. But we are sucking it up.

We have tried to fill the empty space with activities like:

Happy hour runs to Sonic. (A lemon Berry slush is still just as tasty with 3 inches of snow on the ground)

Trips to Ikea. (Don't worry. I didn't buy too much.)

                           quick question: what exactly would be too much?

Crafts. Lots and lots of crafts: (okay, so this is nothing new)

New and good music on itunes: (I ignored Rollingstone magazine's advice and I'm glad I did.)

Garden planning: (I really don't want to be doing this one alone)

Visits to the zoo: (with only one near fatal accident!)

Lots and lots of redbox movies. (I am not sure if I can forgive the public for not warning me about how painful Tron would be to sit through.)

And any other extra ordinary activity we can come up with:

What's on our docket this week:

Picnics at the park

Tulip festival

Baking

Planting tomatoes in the garden

Sidewalk chalking

Jump roping

Scootering

Trips to the library

Thanking Heaven above for spring weather.

And making fun of  you behind your back. 

It's totally good natured, of course. 

We are finding reasons to laugh and 

doing our best to ignore the empty chair at the dinner table,

but it doesn't really work.

With love, 

The best Tetris Competition you have ever come across. AKA, your wife.