Today was the most relaxed I’ve felt in months–months. I suppose if you live in a warmer climate, you might not understand that this feeling is something to be cherished, but today when I was out weeding one of my overgrown flower beds I felt the warmth of the sun penetrate into my muscles, relaxing me in a way that it probably just as good as an awesome massage. After months of cold, rainy weekends (or weekends full of paperwork and books), we finally had a perfect set of days to get yardwork done, visit with family and plant the garden.

J watched T wash the cars and then played in the mud puddles left over from last night’s thunderstorms. I had time to make one of T’s favorite recent recipes for lunch, and J took a long enough nap for me to get a nap in AND finish weeding the biggest of the flower beds, and the one that needed the most attention after last summer’s baby-related neglect.

I just can’t wait for summer, but this weekend gave me enough of a break that I know I can handle two more weeks. I hope your weekend was just a pleasant!

J, you’re 20 months old, now.  Crazy, isn’t it?  Well, maybe not for you, but it certainly is for me.  You’re becoming more than just that cute kid who booby-traps the hallway with books and blocks for Daddy’s midnight stroll to the kitchen or bathroom.  You’re becoming someone with opinions and, gasp…words.

Even though you’ve probably noticed that there are a few extra books around here and that Mama’s dusted off the highlighter to draw in those books, you’re still as much in the spotlight as ever.  You add your own books to the mix, dropping them in my lap and firmly insisting, “Up!” “Up!” I’ve memorized the pictures and words to both the Pat-a-Cake and that Christmas story books, and you’re helping me along as you point to the Christmas star, saying “Staaaar!” and the cow, saying “Mooooo!” and Jesus, saying “Baby!”  

Sometimes you’ll surprise me with a “What are you doing?”  Sometimes I’m scared.  I think you already say, “S**t!” at the appropriate (well, actually it’s inappropriate, but you get the idea) time.  I don’t say it.  Dad doesn’t say it.  Did Grandpa teach you something when I wasn’t in earshot?

Your favorite word?  Shoe.  I think you think it’s interchangeable with, “We’re going outside to play!”

Sorry.  It’s not.

It seems like in just a day or two you’ve gone from stubbornly pointing to your ear when asked to identify any body part to pointing to the correct part.  You don’t even stick your finger in your nose when I ask you to point to your nose.  I must say, you definitely don’t take after your father in that respect.

You can use a spoon, and I’ve given up on the block-piling because they bore me when you’re so interested in reading and telling me what’s going on in those books.  I’m writing you off as perfectly normal despite us.  

You surprise us daily, kid, and we love it almost as much as we love you.

Well, maybe I’m not weaving and dodging enough.  I was hit by rubber bands twice during class today–and worse, I didn’t notice.  Why must the perpetrator be so honest?  Seriously, I hate doing it, but I had to give the “if this keeps up, I’ll be dusting off the broom” speech that I’ll be elaborating on more tomorrow as they take their new seats…seats that face straight forward instead of inward.  Oh, well.

Tonight, I was reminded of what a good man I married.  He tidied up the garage, washed the living room and kitchen floors and cleaned up the kitchen, and all spaces ranged from reasonably messy to horribly pigstyish. In addition, he helped me take J’s changing table/dresser combo down to the basement and bring up my old dresser for J’s room so that I could find room for the five billion loads of laundry I had sitting on the basement floor spilling out of baskets and tubs.

And guess what…he didn’t even complain.  Seriously, I love this man.

Tomorrow’s an important day–we’re having someone stop by to do an evaluation on J’s development, and I hate for people to see what hell it can really look like around here when we don’t have time to clean on the weekend.  J’s probably fine, by the way, but it never hurts to have an eval done.  He seems like bright, well-adjusted boy, but since I’m his mama, I think he’s the smartest thing ever to cross my path. However, there’s a little something in his history that might have put him at risk for some delays, and its recommended that children in his situation get eval’ed. If he does qualify for services, which I seriously doubt, at least we’ll have started early.  If not, I’ll have someone else’s affirmation of what I already know–my little man is brilliant, funny and sweet.

Wish J luck :)

See the other Best Shot Monday posts at Tracey’s!

I thought I’d have a great photo op on Saturday when I took J to his grandparent’s house to see a 6-day-old calf, but I thought wrong.  I’ve obviously done a poor job toughening him up because when we walked into the barn and he heard the mama cow mooing, he immediately went stiff as a board and started screaming.  Red, his cousin, also started screaming.  So, instead of getting some adorable pictures of him hugging a slightly dirty calf, I abandoned the camera on a bale of straw and cuddle the little man until he calmed down a little.

Instead, I’ve got a shot of J checking out his dirty hand, not pointing at me like a gun.  Really.  I swear.  My dad hasn’t gotten him THAT corrupted–of course, if he were a little older, I wouldn’t have put it past him.  Grandpa helped train his three-year-old granddaughter to mention that the large fiberglass orange moose she passes on the way to Grandpa’s house has balls.  Yeah, you heard right.  She now says, “The orange moose has balls, Grandma!”

The orange mouse is NOT anatomically correct.  I do not know where they get this stuff.  It does kind of make a person giggle though, doesn’t it ;)