Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Xtreme Baby

There is no in-between with Eli. 
When he runs, there is only full speed and on the ground. 
When he wants to read a book with you, there is no middle ground. It is not up for discussion.
You are reading where all the baby animals are sleeping AGAIN.
When it comes to requesting, Eli is a shouter.
I’m sure this is a typical sibling trait. When the youngest one has to speak up to be heard, things get noisy.
Plus, we are a loud family.
 Lately, I have started to work with him on lowering his voice.
 But just like the rest of Eli’s habits, it is one extreme or the other.
His polite shouts begin:


Eli, you don’t have to shout. Just ask mama. What do you need?

in the softest, tiniest whisper I can barely hear:  mama, pease i have more milk?

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

We Go To The Mattresses

Each boy was sitting at opposite ends of the dining room table eating waffles for breakfast before school. 
I checked on them numerous times during the daily hustle that is hurry-eat-get-dressed-and-out-the-door-ahhhh!
In between dressing, blow drying, etc. I paused to peep in and see how the waffle eating had progressed when I overheard Eli going mafia on Jackson.
From across the table, waffle in hand, the tiny don quietly stated, “You, hit me.”
Jackson, waffle in mouth a table away, immediately responded, “No, I didn’t!”
“You, hit me.”
“No. I did not.”
“You.  Hit.  Me. Jackson.”
He sounded like an evil baby making sure his victim was getting the picture. As if to say: You hit me and that is how it’s going down.
Each word in a deep voice, each pronounced slowly and with purpose.
I was standing, hidden behind Eli with my mouth agape. My adorable baby turned mob boss was outlining the threats crystal clear – setting up his target. Jackson just sat there shaking his head and stuffing his face with more waffle.
It was about to go down.
I eventually came around the corner and looked at both boys. Jackson’s face was in a state of exaggerated disbelief, humor and waffle.
“What’s going on here?’ I demanded.
And in the sweetest, most adorable, tiny baby voice Eli squeaked, “Jackson hit me, mama!”
“He did?”
“Right dere,” he squeaked while pointing to the top of his head.
I glanced to the other end of the table where Jackson had remained the entire time. 
The look on Jackson’s face was a mix of “this baby is crazy” with “I better start watching my back” and a little syrup. 
This gives a whole new meaning to the Terrible Twos.

Monday, October 7, 2013


After soccer games, Eric collects the equipment, I collect stray snack-trash and my parents collect Eli. Jackson charges around the game fields with teammates and classmates - burning off the excitement from the game.
As twilight approaches and we near the concession stand, a last call to the boy will typically round him up.
But the other night, it was a bit more difficult to call the colt into the gate.
He was in the midst of some serious chase.
As in a trio of adorable little girls were in hot pursuit of soccer player No. 3.
As the pack finally slowed to a halt at my final call, Jackson began to introduce his chasers but the tallest interrupted him with her own professional introduction:

Oh it's ok, I know him.

Oh, you do?

Yes, I chase him.