Porter was Here

The other day i went to grab a few apples to put in my juicer. I saw this:

I knew instantly who it was.

Because this happened over and over every summer:

I called Porter.

I asked him if he knew what happened to that apple.

He quickly responded, "That was me. I did that. "

Exasperated, I asked, "Why didnt you eat it all? Why did you just bite it and put it back?"

He shrugged and said as he walked away, "'Cause it wasn't a tomato."

Reason number 800 that proves this child is very different from the others.

peas in a pod

Caleb and Porter

Caleb is my brown eyed boy, Porter is my blue eyed boy.
Caleb leads and Porter follows.
Porter eats the hot dog, Caleb eats the bun.
Caleb is easy going, Porter falls apart without advance notice.
Caleb loves blue, Porter loves brown.
Porter loves being on his own, Caleb needs people. Lots of people.
Caleb is daring, Porter couldn't be more cautious.
Porter eats anything but chocolate, Caleb won't eat a thing besides chocolate.

But

They both love legos.

They both love books.

They both love potty humor.

They both love baths.

They both superheros.

They both love mario brothers.

They both love to wrestle.

They love each other

 and they adore their baby brother.

When I watch the two of them together, I think Luke is a blessed boy to have these amazing brothers.

They will be his protectors.

His teachers.

His audience.

His example.

His entertainment.

The babies of the family always have it so good.

wait... what?

Did I used to write on this blog fairly regularly?
Was that me?
Did I try to regularly the record the daily life of me and my family in a somewhat entertaining fashion?
What happened?
Oh yeah, I remember:

Summer.

This summer began hard, as we went at it alone without Brian, but it picked up in fun and intensity once he came back to us. So since, I know everyone has been on pins and needles waiting for an update on what is happening in the Swanson household, I will grace you with an update.

This summer Jonas has honed in on his tween personality traits. Especially the "Friends are like, so much cooler than family. For Sure" trait. Also the "eye rolling" and "whatever, Mom" traits are coming along rather nicely. The big event was he managed to get really sick one night and it was really nice. It was nice because he was so sick, I was able to touch him a handful of times without him breaking out in a hyperactive, allergic to mom fit reaction.

This summer Hailey has been a fury of crafts. She started as a tropical storm but has recently escalated to a full fledged hurricane of glue, paper strips, felt and buttons. Hailey has also began perfecting the arts of list making, and event planning and task mastering. She has created a neighborhood book club, babysat nieces and nephews, performed puppet shows and involved us all in the Swanson theater performances, and done it all while keeping us in line and making sure we are crossing things of our summer to do list. I swear, she is going to be the mother/wife of the year, or the worlds best drill sergeant when she grows up.

Caleb decided to add another personality to his life this summer: Luke Skywalker. His brain has become filled with interesting" facts about Luke and Yoda and Darth Vader. He has decided he needs to wear black everyday, because apparently that's what Luke would do. (I bet you didn't know that). Also, I don't know if I have mentioned this before but Caleb has a sound track to everything in life. He has theme music for eating, playing, falling asleep, swinging, riding his scooter, and uh, using the bathroom. He has spent much of this summer passing his theme song capabilities onto Porter. Porter now believes everything should be accompanied by the theme music from Indiana Jones, Harry Potter and Star wars.

Porter has spent the summer learning major life lessons, most obnoxious important: whining. The kid can whine. He has learned how to annoy the crap out of someone until he gets what he wants. I know all two year olds have the corner of the market on this typically, but he blows all of them out of the water. Porter has also deepened his irrational fears of:
large amounts of water (i.e. bathtub)
movie screens
people in costume
trampolines
and basically any other thing deemed fun by the average child.

Brian has spent the summer repeating the words, "There is no place like home", to which I am glad, but if he starts wearing sparkly red shoes then I am really going to worry. He has restored the yard to it's pretty state, undoing all the work I did to get it all crappy looking and stuff.

I have spent my summer soaking up my family. Some days, I think they almost drowned me, but most days, it was good. It was chill. It was everything summer should be.

But don't think for a minute I am not ecstatic for school to be back in session!

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.

neglecting the blogesphere

A few weeks ago, after Jonas turned 11 we surprised the crap out of our kids and took them here:

The Happiest Place on Earth.
The place our kids had saved their cash for five years to get to.

That is unless you are Porter. Because it that case it would be your Biggest Nightmare on Earth.
Where lots of strange characters with extra large heads come to life and roam around every corner getting too close. Where extra loud music, and extra loud fireworks exist to torture your sensitive ears. A place that as you stroll around you can hear the screams of people being tortured on what they call "rides".

I have never seen a boy more in love with his home than the day Porter was able to wake up from his nightmare and return home.

The rest of us, however enjoyed the time of our lives. I took little to no pictures. I was just there, with family, having fun in the moment. I realized something by doing that. Vacations are awesome. I don't know if you have been made aware of that little tidbit, but don't take my word for it. Just try it sometime and you will see, just as I did.

A few days after we came home, Caleb saw a commercial on TV for disneyland. The tagline was, "Where dreams come true."

Caleb stood up, smacked his forehead and growled, "CRAP!"

"What?" I asked, confused.

He pointed to the TV and said, "Dreams come true at Disneyland.... I didn't know that when we went there. We HAVE TO GO BACK."

Someday, my son, someday.

it's everywhere

I looked around my house this morning.

There were annoyances in every room.

Hailey's laundry that I lovingly washed dried and folded was still not put away.
The boys room was a mess.
I almost tripped over a basketball on the stairs:

There was caravan of vehicles on almost every surface:

An empty sippie cup lay abandoned on the kitchen floor:

Breakfast sloppily consumed, but left for me to clean:

Books strewn around the library floor:

shoes laying in the middle of the playroom:

Breakfast toast on the library couch:

And a backpack plopped by the front door and left there all night long:

I started to get annoyed.
Kids: Professionals in the art of mess making.
Does it even cross their minds to pick up after themselves?

Then I stopped.
Took a deep breath.
Did some meditating. (not really, but wouldn't I be so much cooler if I had?)

And I realized.
I remembered.
All that mess means childhood is alive in my house.


And that is something I am grateful for.

Oh what do you do in the wintertime?

I've been spoiled.
The snow melted. I hoped (even though I know better) that it was gone for good.
We were happy.
Playing outside again happy.
Then today, it snowed.
Is snowing.
Hard and fast.
This is what we do when it's snowing outside.
We wear short sleeves or shorts or

 just diapers.

And stay inside and pretend it's lovely outside.

That we are rolling in the grass.

And that we are happy as can be.

And while we are pretending we are as happy as can be, we wrestle. We get our hair all messy and we stand on each other.

And then winter doesn't seem so bad.

What do you do?

At the table

I love family dinners.
I don't love cooking it and I certainly don't love cleaning it all up. Especially when you have a child like Porter who can, in a matter of minutes, make the kitchen floor look like it threw up and make his face, clothes and body look as if he has been slimed by one of the ghosts on ghost busters.

The real reason I love family dinners is the conversation. For example, Caleb the other day, over a dinner of baked chicken and new potatoes, announced to us that he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. We have heard some interesting announcements of his future in the past so we all perked up to hear what this would be.

"You know those guys that knock down stuff they don't like?"
"Um, Nope." I said.
"You know the ones that get in the big machines and they swing the big ball at the stores they don't like?"
"Do you mean a demolition man?"
Caleb, nodding and grinning, "Yep. That's what I am going to be."

This sparked a "Career day theme that night".
We talked about what we wanted to be when we grew up (or what we thought we would be when we were little). Then we started speculating on what Porter will be, using what we know of him now.

We thought a professional wrestler, because of his love of tackling and wrestling and mildly injuring his house mates.
We thought a food critic, due to his devotion to food.
We thought a shoe designer stemming from his OBSESSION with shoes.
We thought a sanitation engineer thanks mostly due to his over enthusiasm about throwing anything he can pick up in the garbage.
We thought impersonator, mostly due to his constant and consistent growling.
On top of whatever he actually ends up being, he will surely be a father. That we have no doubt of thanks to his supreme baby fascination.

When dinner was over and only the ghost of dishes remained, I washed them with a goofy smile on my face because...

Well, how could I not? These kids are the best dinner theater anyone could ever have.

Totally worth the price of crusty dinner dishes.

This time last year...

I had a baby:

A bald, slobbery baby who couldn't get around much and who spent his time being cuddled and biting things and drinking bottles.

Today, I have this:

A toddler.

He cries, he screams, he bites, he throws himself on the floor, he demands, he makes messes faster than all three other children combined. His idea of a good time always involves destruction in some form.

But when he is getting his way,

he is sunshine. 

He is laughter. 

He is superbaby. Supertoddler.

And we are ever thankful for those times.

No matter how rare they are occure lately.

note to self:

dont let the big kids eat their oreos unattended.
human vacuums stand in waiting:





another note to self:
while you are cleaning up oreo mess,
don't leave the days worth of hand picked tomatoes





on the kitchen table





Or the pears left to ripen:



because there is a bottomless pit cleverly disguised a small boy residing here.

OCD

Anyone who has ever had or been near a toddler frequently know that they have obsessions. In my observation, there is usually one major obsession. One thing to hold over their head. One thing you can use to distract from public melt downs. One word that you can say that stops them dead in their tracks.

For Jonas this was any animal. Giraffe, zebra, elephant, ring tailed lemur, narwhal... You showed him an animal and you showed saw a light straight to his soul. I thought there was no other career path for him other than veterinarian.

For Hailey it was princess. Or Purse. Or pink. Or Pretty. Anything doused in glitter or adorned with jewels was a treasure to revere. I never thought I would see the end of that. At 7 but dangerously close to 8, pink is no longer her favorite color and glitter is on hiatus.

For Caleb it was SUGAR. Candy. If he saw some, his mood changed, his countenance changed, his heart beat quickened. His desperation to be near the sugar, to touch the sugar, to taste the sugar was palpable. The child loves his sweets. And that is how I know he is my son.

Now we are to Porter. I have been waiting to see that one thing would be...
Trains? Nope.
Music? Sort of.
Cars? It's a definite like.
Balls are close, but it doesn't hold a candle to the excitement his whole body registers when he sets his eyes on an infant car seat.
Because inside those are the greatest creation in the world:
Babies.
He spots them like a mile away.
Baby, Baby, Baby. Baby. BABY!!
I can calm any impending tantrum by simply uttering the word.
His fascination is total and complete.
He would make a GREAT big brother.


But we all know that ain't gonna happen.


Thank goodness for the handful of cousins coming his way.

In the name of Love

My baby Porter.



So cute.

So fun.

So loved.

He has started doing that thing that all little babies do that every mother hates:



Grow.

And with no camera, I have not been recording it, well.

So I decided to dedicate an entire post to things I love about Porter at this moment in his life right now at 14.5 months.

His teeth.
There is never another time in life where having four teeth is a cute thing. But on babies, acceptable. And SO adorable.

His singing talents.
Porter's career is still getting off the ground, and by off the ground, I mean he can only sing the chorus of Neon Tree's "animal", but every single time I hear that "uh-oh, I want some more.." I want to squeeze the life out of him...
in a good way.

His athleticism.
We recently bought Porter his first pair of shoes. I am one of those weird moms who doesn't buy stuff that has no use....like shoes for a baby that doesn't walk. So once he started to walk, we lazily took our time picking out the perfect pair. Once we put those shoes on his feet, he understood we were giving him permission to run. And he has taken it. And I love watching it.
ALL DAY LONG.

The mark he leaves on the world.
I always know where Porter has been. He leaves evidence everywhere. Pacifiers, dripping bottles, kitchen utensils, drool. All lovingly placed there for me.

His curiosity.
Mainly, with toilets. This one isn't actually something I love. But, to Porter, toilets are the way God has shown his love to the world. I tend to agree with his line of thinking, but I don't however love to bath myself in them.

His determination.
For example, Porter loves to climb the table. He loves for me to find him standing on top of the table yelling his celebratory cry, which is his version of "I'm the king of the world!"

His love for Dad.
Porter is like a dog. He can sense when Brian is due home. At that time of day he walks from door to door pathetically and constantly asking me, "Da Da go go?" Which in English means, "Shouldn't dad be getting home soon?"


I love him. We all do. And even though, at 14 months, he is working hard to test that love, it's still there.
Unconditional.

But I do have a problem with the other three children who refuse to shut bathroom doors and flush the toilet.

baby love

The baby is 12 months. TWELVE. We love him. The kids have helped me realize that Porter hasn't gotten much press here on the blog, which really doesn't show our life accurately. Because he is a constant bright light in our home.

I love porter at 12 months. I love that everyday he gives us a little piece of the puzzle of who he is. I love discovering something new about him.

I love his bedhead. I love that each one of the hairs on his head has a different idea in mind on where they want to go. I love that they all collide in a sort of slumped over standing tangled mess at the top of his head in the morning.

I love the way he alerts us to his plans to throw something by saying "Uh-oh!" first.

I love the way his laugh sounds like a deep bellied giggle.

I love how he loves to display his tongue whenever possible.



I love the way his baby babble can sound like someone singing a song when they don't know the words and can't stay on key.

I love how he could walk for months now, but chose not to until he could run.

I love how his chubby fingers always hover around his open mouth.



I love that whenever I laugh, he beams with pride, sure it must have been him that did something entertaining.
I love that when he laughs his face gets all scrunched up and the wrinkles on his nose make a V:


I love that when I walk out of few for more than 10 seconds when I come back into view, he lights up and says casually, "Hey."

I love that when he wrestles, he gets excited, and the excitement makes him feel the need to eat something, so he opens his mouth wide and proceeds to taste whomever he is wrestling with.



I love that when he says no, he doesn't just shake his head, he shakes his body.

I love him.

We love him.

He is truly one of the best little things.

Is it just me?

Ever have one of those nights?



The kind where your baby is being very cute and you decide to sit down and capture some sweetness?




Things are going well, when suddenly...



The other children come?

And those other children seem to have snorted some kind of illegal substance and are running around like tiny crack addicts? That ever happen to anyone else?



And the craziest crack headed child is screaming... "I'm N A K E D!!!" Like it's some kind of freedom cry?
And the other crazies are running and they are chasing and they are making your ears bleed with a screaming that only crazy crack addicted-like children can make, causing your head to split open and your ears to bleed spontaneously? Is that just me?



And you look at your watch praying for salvation which can only come in the form of bedtime and see 8:00PM! Its here! At last! It's here! And you turn and loudly announce it is bed time. You ignore the instant protests, and whines, and moans and you tell the crazy crack head child screaming proudly about his indecent exposure to society and you tell him, sternly, that he needs to get his clothes on. You've been here right?

Then you get this:



And your child knows when its time to obey and he does. But he doesn't have to like it. So then you move on to another situation.
The crying. The drama on and on.
All the while cuddling a beloved ball.
Sound familiar?




The baby, the adorable subject in the beginning, looses interest in you and crawls over to the crying crazy, and you think, "how sweet... the baby is going to be a comforter... and he does:




he gently taps his brother somewhat calming him.




And then, quickly, before anyone can realize it, he swipes the ball away from his crying brother like some kind of con artist prodigy.



You know what I am talking about, right? Then you, silently laughing, realize that being a parent to these crazy, drug addicted, hoodlums has got to be the most entertaining thing on this planet?




Don't you love it when that happens?