Remembering the Little Things

The days have been full.  The weeks have flown by, and I have dozens of pictures that haven't hit the blog.  It tends to be the little moments that I forget as time passes.  

I want to remember the little things like Isaac going through a two week period where his eye "hurt."  He would say, "My eye surrrts."  Ice didn't help.  Drops didn't help.  The sleep mask, however, seemed to solve the problem...although it resulted in a few stubbed toes.

I want to remember what it was like baking with Clare...my overeager "helper."  I don't anticipate forgetting this because she is like a moth to a flame when it comes to baking.  Upon the first clank of a pan, she is in the kitchen ready to "help."  Anyone who has ever baked/cooked with a 5-year-old knows exactly why I keep putting the word help in quotes.

In case you haven't cooked with a 5-year-old, and you don't understand why I keep putting the word help in quotes, here is just one example of the work of my "helper."

I have come to accept the fact that handing over the baking reins is one way of stripping me of my need desire to bake with any perfectionism. 

I want to remember watching Phil do crafts/experiments with the kids.  I sat back thinking, he is crazy for letting them loose with shaving cream and food coloring.  

Then I saw their joy and heard their giggles and realized that the ridiculous mess was trumped by their delight.

 Subsequently, I want to remember how (after this project) their hands were stained such a terrible gray color that Clare insisted on wearing pink gloves to school the next morning.  Keep in mind that it was probably 80 degrees, and she was wearing short sleeves, a skirt, and sandals.  The pink wool gloves cracked me up.  Since I don't have a picture of her fashion statement, I needed to record it.

I want to remember how Phil brings home the strangest animals, and how seeing a baby opossum on our kitchen table doesn't even phase me anymore.

 The kids think it's pretty fantastic to help Daddy with the animals.

I want to remember our backyard owl.  This Barred Owl has frequented our backyard and must somehow know that an ornithologist lives on the premises.

 I want to remember how sweetly Clare "takes care of" Myles.  She wants to do anything and everything for him.  She crawls in his crib every morning as soon as she hears him wake up.  She makes funny faces and noises (some would argue that they are less on the funny side and more on the terrifying side) to distract him or make him giggle.  She is an outstanding big sister.  Seeing this picture also reminds me of the hours that I spend doing her hair. 
Day after day...braid after braid...snarl after snarl...and so on.

Isaac...oh Isaac!

Isaac, who was late to talk, is now a regular old chatterbox.  His standard greeting is, "My name is Isaac.  I'm free (three).  My burfday is November 9.  I'm going to get a biggg truck."

I want to remember the funny way he mixes up his pronouns.

"Yes her did."

"Us need to do that."

"Them are not here."

I want to remember his obsession with McDonalds and how he always, 100% of the time, calls in "The Donalds."

In wrapping up this post, I realized that I hardly made mention of Myles...our other child.  Yes, I do remember that we have three children.  Myles continues to be the perfect addition to our family.  He is 7-months-old today, and he has piercing blue eyes and a smile that melts my heart.  He still has a toothless, gummy grin.  We've been waiting for a tooth to pop through for the past two months, but he's in no hurry.  I'm in no hurry either.  I want to preserve the baby stage as long as possible.  Now that he is sitting up, scooting all over the place, and eating like a linebacker, I think the baby days are almost a thing of the past.

Even on the days when my 3-year-old steps on the bag of groceries in the car, and obliterates the loaf of bread and bundle of bananas, I want to remember that these three gifts are what made me a mother....the best job ever.