Precious Moments - not the knicknacks

There are those moments that happen in your day, in your life, that you never want to forget. I suppose I have a lot of those. I'm going to share a few, starting with what happened just a few minutes ago.

It is 12:12am. (No, I don't sleep. My eyelid has been twitching, which is very telling. But when the work and the leisure time for the day starts around 9pm, it's impossible to consider bed before 12am.) Anyway, so it's late. I'm working in the office/ guest room trying to get some paperwork in order, search for hidden tax documents, etc., and listening to the latest Podcast of "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me...", when I hear a sad cry from the boys' room. Last night the sad cry happened because Kindred had dropped Lamby, and since the floor is so much farther away than before, he just cries instead of getting out of bed to replace Lamby and go back to sleep. I suspected that was the same reason for the cry and entered their room immediately to rectify the situation quickly and quietly.

What I found when I opened the door was a little boy standing next to his big big boy bed, crying, bewildered, holding out his left hand. When I knelt and asked him what was wrong, he mumbled something about his hand then cried again and held tightly to my neck. I felt his hand and it was quite wet, like he'd been drooling on it. A lot.... Then I noticed his sweatpants were only halfway up and his potty was open. He said again, and I understood this time, "I peeeed on my haaaand. Waaaahhhhhhhh."

The poor, wonderful child. In his attempt to wake up with a dry diaper, he must've not quite made it all the way to sitting on the potty in his sleepy delirium, and his little hand and his sweatpants caught the brunt of the minor disaster. His best intentions foiled, his spirit fallen, and his goal unmet. All of this at an hour that no child can really process anything and can only respond by crying in a soft and very confused way.

I dried his leg and changed his pants while he sat on his bed. I stroked his soft cheek and told him how proud I was of him for trying, and I tried to treat this much more as a triumphant moment than a defeat, but he wasn't having it. When he laid back down and I covered him back up, he held out his hand again. Apparently I had not sufficiently dried his fingers. And with one more sad sigh, Kindred closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep.

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Elias really enjoys blowing his nose, and gets upset if you don't give him the opportunity to do so when there is a tissue or a hanky (or a bib) nearby. He will even do it himself. Recently when he had a bout of the sniffles, he was playing in the playroom and he sneezed loudly. He immediately appeared in the doorway, smiling slightly, boogies think on his upper lip, marching intentionally over to Michael who was waiting with a tissue. Elias dutifully stood, face tipped upward, to receive his wiping, to blow customarily, and turn and scoot back to the fire engine waiting for him to return. He did this over and over again.

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Kindred's phrase to begin a race: "Have your maaaarch! And set! GO!"

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Elias has really started to try his hand, er, at talking. His most clear words right now, besides to usual Mommy Daddy Bye Poppop, include: Shoe, want that, on, juice, please, all done, down. But he has mastered some names too. The most frequent name that comes out of his mouth these days: In-ee-ahh. India. We had a good friend and Elias' namesake here this weekend to stay with us. Elias doesn't understand that he's been named after Brian Lewis and his family, but I think he must've sensed there was a connection between them. He barely let Brian out of his sight, and he would actually reject his parents in favor of being in Brian's arms. He could say a version of "Brian" but much preferred the easier nickname he created: "Dee."

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The boys, my boys, have started wrestling each other. (I find all of this fitting and yet slightly bizarre.) They take great delight in starting at opposite sides of a room and running towards the middle where they collide bellies and fall to the ground like Sumo wrestlers, laughing uproariously. Or one will sneak up on the other at some random moment and just tackle him. I know this is going to result someday in perhaps a more than minor injury, and it confuses my sensibilities that my mellow Kindred would participate in such an activity and Elias wouldn't be getting himself hurt during every moment of participation. But I take comfort in Lora Lynn's reports of her own brood of boys and try to relax a little while watching my own brood explore new limits and have a great time with each other.