tubas and tanning

Yet another installment of the Here's and There's of Lucas's Life.

While I wouldn't say that Lucas's vocabulary has exploded or anything so gusto-filled, I think it's fair [and exciting] to say that he is now much more gung-ho about randomly trying out new words and sounds. And by randomly, I mean truly, truly randomly. For instance, words that we have said probably thousands of times by now [cat! Puma! love! bird! stinkypants!], he's got nothing. And words that would be helpful and useful in daily life, [food! diaper! want! bed! all-I-want-is-for-you-to-touch-Fao-Bear's-nose-to-the-color-wheel-and-I-won't-be-sad-anymore!], zilch. He doesn't even contemplate trying to say the word. He pretends he has no idea what all of our coaxing and prodding and "c-aaaaaa-t/foooooooooood"-ing could mean. But you point out a tuba in a new book? Suddenly, it's all, "Tu-bah! Tu-bah!" And that little blue monster you offhandedly introduce as Grover? "Go-vah! Go-vah!" It's pretty awesome. Sometimes he'll put considerable effort into forming the word. He gets all still, purses his lips [you can even watch the little muscles around his mouth twitching], and then proudly bursts out some sound that usually isn't even close to the right one. 

I never realized how difficult words are, how talking and understanding speech at all is a massive accomplishment. So many words sound similar to each other but mean something different. Or the words are the same but they mean something different. Or there are fifty words that all mean the same thing. It's all quite confusing. A recent example of this would be his latest verbal aquisitions, Grover and Zoe [the little yellow Sesame Street character]. Did you know that Grover and clover are virtually identical to a 20-month-old with sandwich in his mouth? You probably did. BUT, did you know that Zoe and sewer also sound the same, even minus the sandwich? Yeah, me either. But they do. So you just have to figure out by context that when you're outside, "Zu-ah" is sewer, and when you're inside, "Zo-ah" is a yellow monster. Got it? Okay. 

I also feel the need to mention how ridiculous it is that the words ball, bowl, book, bye, blue, and a large assortment of others sound nearly the same and yet somehow distinctly different. It makes me feel like a supermom every time I win at the "What Did You Say?" game with Lucas. Skills, yo. [And when in doubt, just say, "tu-bah!" and he'll giggle and hopefully forget whatever B word you were unable to identify.]

Oh! I absolutely cannot write on and on about Lucas's words without quickly mentioning his most recent accomplishment, one that will undoubtedly catapult him to the top of the 2016 Cutest Kid Ever rankings: Lucas has discovered "Uh oh." I'm not sure I've ever heard anything so cute in my life. I know millions of kids discovered uh-oh way before they were as old as Lucas and it's old hat to every parent out there, but I don't even care. It is the most adorable sound in the world. Mr. Frumble lost his hat again? Hand gets dramatically placed on the side of his head and the clearest little "uh-oh!" comes tumbling out. The pig falls into the water? "Uh oh!" You go for a bike ride and pass by a fire hydrant? "Uh oh. Uh oh. Uh oh!" It's excellent. I love this kid.

Ok, moving on. So! We recently got back from a pretty awesome Vermette family vacation. We took a 7-day cruise down to the eastern Caribbean islands and Lucas had a blast. He carousal-ed on bears and tigers and frogs and deer. He mini-golfed with gophers and turtles. He beached it like a pro and fell in love with sunscreen. He ate bananas like they were going out of style. Reggae music became his jam. He made grumpy people happy and 10-floor elevator rides packed with strangers less awkward. And, to top it off, right before the cruise, he finally decided to sleep through the night. We're talking nearly 12 hours straight every night [with one exception] for the past two and a half weeks. It has been glorious. 

Jason and I had resigned ourselves to the fact that Lucas would always wake up in the middle of the night. He would be 14 years old and wake up for a 3 am snack. We told ourselves we were okay with this, we could totally handle one wake-up a night, as long as it was only one. I think we had forgotten what it was like to actually sleep from night to morning without interruption. But now we remember. And boy are we loving it. It took just over 20 months for Lucas to figure out this whole sleeping thing, but he did figure it out. Take note, Future kpluBlet #2! You need to beat Lucas's time. Thanks!

As one last note about the cruise, here's a riddle: What can make Jason sad, impressed, and jealous all at once? Lucas's magic tanning genes. We slathered that kid with sunscreen; kept him shaded with clothes, hats, stroller sun shades, and our own shadows; and really only let him outside in the heat for very limited amounts of time, but somehow still Lucas came home with pretty defined tan lines. How can tan lines be cute? How? Somehow they are. It's ridiculous. 

And thus ends my ramblings. Life has been filled with fun times and exciting new developments. We will soon be heading off for our second vacation of the summer, a week in Branson. It will be our first family vacation with just the three of us. I'm looking forward to it muchly. Jason has grand plans for his garage organization. Puma is as fluffy as ever, if not fluffier. Lucas will no doubt be starting up his own Nature Treasures gift shop soon [expect a lot of clover and dandelion stems]. And I have high hopes to finish my research on the vast field of construction vehicles. By the end of the summer I will be able to distinguish between a skid steer, a front loader, and a bulldozer. Just watch.

Choices

The school year is now over. The last final exams have been graded, course grades have been turned in, and I can now stay at home most days with Sharayah and Lucas. There is still some work to be done during the summer, but most of it can be done from home. I'm really excited to have more time at home this summer. I have a ton of projects around the house that I've been wanting to tackle pretty much since we moved in. I also have a lot of books I've been meaning to read. Mostly, I have a Boy to watch learn and grow. I've talked about my nice schedule before; I already get more time at home than most full-time jobs would normally allow. Still, during the summer I'll be home almost always. Sharayah has had a monopoly on Lucas time that I plan to take over for the next few months.

It's about time, anyway. He is really digging her lately, and I want a piece of that pie. Lucas, as we have mentioned, is developing all kinds of preferences, and they are only getting more frequent and well-defined as time goes by. Currently, he's firmly in the middle of that phase where he consistently wants a particular parent to do (or help him do) each particular thing throughout the day. For most things, that's Sharayah.

She's mentioned that during breakfast, I am not allowed to identify the things in his book as he frantically points at them. If I do, or if I look like I'm going to, he will wave his arm at me as if to shove me away (even though I'm clearly too far away to be shoved). We have a post-meal routine for getting him out of his highchair and cleaned up which used to involve her taking his tray and me unstrapping him and carrying him to the sink, where I hold him while Sharayah washes his hands and face. No longer. If I start making my way behind him or reach to unstrap him or pick him up, cue the grunting and attempted shoving. Sharayah has to do the whole thing on her own, now (don't worry, she's quite good at it from doing it alone while I'm at work, anyway). Sometimes, Lucas won't even let me take off his shirt at bedtime. I say something like, "Ok, Lucas, let's take off your shirt," and he grabs it with a death-grip and runs to Sharayah, saying "Momom! Momooomom!" Of course, you know what he does if I reach for his shirt anyway. Shove. There are many other examples. It's fun to sit and think about them. He's such a funny kid.

I take all these things in stride. All the wobsites say it's normal for toddlers to strongly prefer one parent or the other for various tasks, and it's best not to try to force them to do otherwise. It's a passing phase. Besides, there are also things he prefers me to do. At bedtime I sit in the rocking chair in his room and read books with him. He wants me to read the books to him. At various times, he chooses me to carry him when we're going somewhere (this one's kind of a toss-up - we never really know who he will want to carry him). Sometimes he wants me to push the shopping cart. If that's his choice, what happens when Sharayah tries to push? Yeah. Shove. Getcho hands offa my cart, Momom. I want Daaa. Ah, it's nice to sit and think about the things he wants me to do for him, too.

I don't know how he chooses. Some of the things are obvious: habit, or routine. He wants whoever he is accustomed to for a particular task to be the one who does that task. For some things, though, he has recently made us switch (ok, usually when we have to switch from a set-in routine, it's because he's choosing Sharayah). Interestingly (but possibly coincidentally), he shifted several tasks to Sharayah around the time I went back to work after spring break. My theory is that he got used to me being home all day, and then he was mad at me for leaving everyday again when break ended. Or, you know, that just happened to be when he entered this phase. For still other things, he might choose either one of us for the same task at different times, depending on who knows what. Once he does, though, there is usually no convincing him otherwise. Although, now that I think of it, sometimes Sharayah can get him to let me do stuff by giving me "permission" to do it: "Lucas, you can let Dada put your socks on. Then we'll go outside and play." It doesn't always work, but sometimes.

At the end of the day, he is just a really funny little guy. He's so often a little ball of energy and sweetness packed into a package small enough you wouldn't think it would all fit. I can't wait to spend all summer with him. Maybe by the end he will let me look at him during breakfast.

Disclaimer: Lest anyone think otherwise, Lucas is still ridiculously sweet. It's just funny to talk about the silliness above. As earlier chronicled, he loves to obey us. He's super affectionate with Sharayah, and very huggy with both of us. Sometimes he'll run up to one of us, shout his name for us, grab our hand, and lead us away somewhere (or no where in particular, just walk around holding our hand). Yesterday while we were all playing, he suddenly stopped, ran over to me, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Then he ran over to kiss Sharayah. Then he just picked up playing where he left off. Gah.

two sides of the toddler coin

In celebration of warm weather, outside exploration, a freshly mowed lawn, and everything spring, Lucas is the ecstatic owner of a brand new lawn mower. It does not blow bubbles but by golly the pull cord [starter rope? varoom thingamajig?] makes a noise that simultaneously fascinates the Boy and scares the whiskers off of Puma. Score. This little green lawn mower also comes with a miniature gas can that fits conveniently in a notched space on the back of the mower. [This space can alternately be used instead as a storage spot for any number of other important life items, like colorful Easter eggs, hotwheels, or a peanut butter sandwich. Versatility!] And this gas can is the star of the latest installment of Life with Lucas.

Topping the list of Lucas's many heartwarming attributes is his sweet desire [some incalculable percent of the time] to dutifully carry out whatever task you ask him to do. In hopeful-parentspeak, he loves to be obedient. Sure, a lot of the time that he is sweet and dutiful about obeying is when he is being asked to do something that he has no reason or desire to refuse to do in the first place [confusing sentence!]. And granted, he has not reached the age where he questions everything before he agrees to do it, which is a good thing since we ask him to do a lot of inane things just for the sake of watching him do it. Like I said, he is a pretty sweet kid. Anyway. All this to say, more often than not, Lucas seems to love to do what we ask, as long as what we ask does not interfere with the consumption of his bananas.

So. The gas can story. The little green lawn mower came packaged in a frustrating mixture of cardboard and a dozen absurdly tight zip ties. Things were zip-tied that had no reason to be zip-tied. There was even a zip tie that was zip-tied. Seriously. Ridiculous. [First takeaway from this story: If you think you can quickly remove this toy from its packaging in order to discreetly shoplift it away, think again. Trust me, just spend the $25 and save your integrity and sanity.] Lucas was in toddler agony trying to be patient as I manhandled those never-ending zip ties one by one. Each time I successfully removed one, he would think it was finally time. But no, cutie, there are still a gazillion more. Sigh. 

One of the first removable parts I managed to get loose was the miniature gas can. He held it reverently in his hands as he watched me wrestle with the rest of this menace-disguised-as-a-toy. Finally, it was finished. I assembled the four pieces of plastic with minimal pinching of toddler fingers [he insisted on sticking his fingers in each and every spot that I was focused on because, well, you know, curiosity] and presented him with his very own lawn mower. He was gleeful. I explained to him what it was and showed him the various parts. In conclusion I pointed to the gas can clutched in his hands and said, "Lucas, that's a gas can. Gas can. Gas can." And the turmoil began.

What turmoil you ask? My thoughts exactly at that moment. Lucas became clearly bothered for a couple of seconds. He hesitated. His face got that serious, decide-y, pondering look to it. He was clearly bothered. But why? When a toddler becomes bothered, it is sometimes quite hard to pin down the reason. Did he not get the concept of a gas can? Does he not know how to hold the gas can and push the mower at the same time? Is the gas can's color too red for his liking? Did my mention of the gas can bring to mind a previous babyhood trauma involving a scrap of carpet fiber, applesauce, and an unwanted diaper change? Did he suddenly realize it was an election year? Who can say. This is life with a toddler. 

A moment after the turmoil-filled pause, Lucas turned around, gas can in hand, and waddled off into the kitchen. After the past fifteen minutes of anxious excitement to get his hands on his new toy, I found his wandering off a bit odd. But, a few seconds later, he returned. Empty-handed. Gas-can-less. And then it dawned on me. You see, one of the various requests we make of Lucas is to throw things in the garbage can. He gets a big kick out of it and loves to find dirt and crumbs on the floor to throw in the garbage can of his own volition. It is such a big kid thing to do; I love it. Well, apparently with all of the excitement zooming around his head, Lucas misheard what I said. He saw me pointing at the gas can in his hands and thought I said "garbage can" instead of "gas can." The poor kid was torn between doing what he thought I asked him to do and keeping his new toy, and he chose to dutifully do what he thought I asked.

I love this kid. You have no idea.

The gas can was rescued from the trash, the difference between gas can and garbage can was explained, and the entire main floor was mowed about thirty times in the next thirty minutes. In the middle of his mowing, with his eyes closed tight, he gave me the sweetest little kiss, smack dab on the chin. For the rest of the day I marveled at what an unbelievably sweet and good little boy I have. I win in the kid category.

Zoom.

Just in case anyone gets the wrong idea or thinks I am epically naive about my child, I suppose I should toss in here that I am quite aware of the other side of a toddler's behavioral spectrum. Lucas is by no means perfect and his sweetness isn't always apparent 100% of the time. To prove my point, here is an abbreviated list of some of his quirkier moments:

• During breakfast, if Jason [yes, this is particular only to Jason and only during breakfast] looks at him too long or identifies an object in a book, Lucas will thrash about in his chair and sometimes even start crying. Why.
• The classic Back Arching occurs if he doesn't want to put on his shoes or his jacket or if he doesn't want a diaper change at a particular moment. 
• Lucas loves being outside. Playing in the yard is one of his favorite things to do. And if he isn't ready to come back inside when you insist it's time? Cue Armageddon.
• There is one particular shirt he refuses to wear. Refuses. If you try to put it on him, he acts like it is made out of acid. That's right, we bought an Acid Shirt for our son. 
• The correct parent has to push the shopping cart. If the incorrect parent attempts to push the shopping cart at any given moment, get ready to be that family with that kid in aisle 12. Sometimes you've just got to choose your battles...

And the list could go on. But I think I'll stop there, because, really, Lucas is such an amazing kid. He has the sweetest heart. He is incredibly empathetic. He looks adorable even with drool crusted on his face and his hair doing some kind of weird toddler comb over in the back. He laughs heartily whenever we're laughing even though he has no idea what we're laughing about. He laughs when he hears us say the word "funny." He laughs when I say the word "potato." He gives hugs that speak volumes and volumes. He emanates such joy.

Being Lucas's mom means I get to see and experience and, yes, sometimes just simply endure every moment, every mood, every side of his personality. It is a privilege that no one else gets to experience, and it is a grand, grand way to spend my days. 

the Boy and the pig

There once was a boy. He had many friends of the stuffing-filled type. One of these friends was a small, red-bandana-ed pig named Alfred. The Boy and the pig got along splendidly.

One morning, the Boy determined that the pig was hungry. Knowing pigs do not care for rice cakes, the Boy searched for an appropriate pig food. He discovered a large bottle of Bar Keepers Friend underneath Daaa and Momom's bed. He decided this would most certainly do. Yes, most certainly.

The Boy carefully balanced the pig on his tiny pink haunches on the edge of the bed. He then used both hands to heft the heavy bottle of household cleaner up to Alfred's snout, tipped it up, and started feeding him. To ensure an authentic feeding experience, the Boy diligently made many lip smacking and slurping noises on behalf of his porcine friend.

The Boy's parents saw this outrageously cute play unfold and pretty much declared the Boy the best, most hilarious, sweetest child alive.

The End.

Basically.

*No Bar Keepers Friend was actually consumed or even opened by any party*

*No stuffed pigs were harmed by the imaginative ingestion of Bar Keepers Friend*

*If you write Bar Keepers Friend too many times, it starts to look like a tasty ice cream flavor*

Daaa beats the system

Sharayah has documented many of the ways in which Lucas is developing his own little personality and preferences. Occasionally this means crying for no apparent reason (or for a seemingly irrational reason, if we guess correctly what he's upset about). It reminds me of this list that I read before he was born. That list really gives a peek into the mind of a toddler (although I don't think he's cried for any of those particular reasons yet). Mostly, though, he is just learning how to play and explore his world on his own. It's been really fun. He is such a sweet little guy. He loves to transfer things from one place to another (often the "another" is a person, and if they put down anything that he gave them in a given round of transfers, he stops his transferring to pick it up and give it to them again [or pushes them to pick it back up on their own] and then resumes transferring without missing a beat). He loves "reading" probably more than any other activity. Many times throughout the day he will suddenly run off to another room, stop, and shout "Daaaaaaa!  Dadaaa!" until I come find him. It's the best (although it makes me a little sad that when I'm at work he will pound on the door that leads to the garage and shout "Daaa!" in the futile hope that I will come rushing in to find him). That's pretty much how he always calls for me: loudly shouting "Daaaa!" In contrast, when he wants Sharayah he says "Momom" (yes, he ends his "mama" with another "m") in the sweetest, calmest voice you can imagine.

We are getting a passport for Lucas for an upcoming trip. Did you know babies need passports? The requirements for the picture are not easy for a toddler. Mostly the hard part is that he needs to sit still, look straight into the camera, and not have any expression on his face. Lucas was actually really cooperative, and also demonstrated to us once again that, while he is a man of few words (at least, few real ones), he probably understands pretty much everything we say to him. Sharayah told him to go stand with his back to the wall and look at her for the picture, which he did promptly without hesitation. We have never told him to do anything like that before, so I don't know where he picks these things up. He kept looking away or looking down, so I told him to look up and he looked at the ceiling. I guess I should be more specific.

Passport photos are stupidly expensive to have made, but they are really just 2 inch square pictures with the head filling a certain portion of the picture. No place will print that without calling it a passport photo and charging a lot (think $15 for a single print), but you can get a 4 inch square picture for less than 25 cents. So we just made a 2 by 2 grid of the 2 inch picture that we actually wanted to print. So we got four times the picture for less than 1/60 of the price. It turns out Lucas is pretty cute even just standing there with no expression on his face.

So this is what it would be like to have quadruplets staring at you...

It also turns out that we misread the requirements on what size the face should be within the picture, so we ended up having to pay to get another picture remade at the post office anyway. So much for beating the system.

Right now it's spring break at MBU, and I've loved having the week off to spend all day with my little family. There are only 5 more weeks (and finals, and grading...) left before summer vacation. I am very excited to have a few months in a row to stay home almost every day and watch my little guy get bigger. Not to mention going on the grand adventures that require baby passports. Being Daaaa is pretty great.

seventeen months going on irrational

Suddenly, Lucas has opinions. What. Kid, you're just barely 17 months old, you still pee your pants, and you find specks of dirt fascinating. You're not old enough to have opinions and preferences and unbelievably specific demands. You're not.

Before becoming a parent, I liked to ruminate about the age at which one goes from "baby" to "real-life tiny person." As we are now finding out, it is so much sooner than I imagined. Seriously. I was under the impression I would have a much longer period of time to impose my desires willy-nilly on this child. Alas. Lucas has other ideas.

Some of Lucas's budding opinions are more obvious, and slightly more understandable, than others. For instance, he has opinions about food and opinions about whether or not he wants to get his diaper changed. Fine, so that food doesn't taste as good as last time - noted. Okay, so you weren't done playing and don't want to lie down for a diaper change - I understand. But then, there are the much more... random preferences. 

Stoic.

Explain to me again why it is imperative for you to hold my left hand? What's wrong with my right hand? And while we're on the subject of hands, do you not realize that it is physically impossible for you to hold both of my hands to dance since I need at least one to hold you up? Also, would you mind enlightening me about how you decide who has to hold out your plate at mealtime? What is so unacceptable about me offering the plate as opposed to your dad? And why does your preference change five times a meal? I understand you like cats, but you can't wear your cat shirt every day. If you remember, it is unwearable because you kept patting it with your food-smeared hands at dinner. Plus, I hate to break this to you, but the cat shirt is really a TIGER, not a cat. So... there. How do you decide who you want to lift you out of your crib? Or whose lap you want to sit in at night? Or which plastic chicken deserves to be in the barn? Or which pot is allowed to have a lid and which is not? Or whether you want your socks on your feet, on your hands, or nowhere within a 10-foot radius of you?

I suppose I can't fault him for his preferences and opinions since, well, one's preferences and opinions, almost by definition, don't necessarily have to conform to any sort of sensible, logical reasoning. But come on, why is it so all out important that the now unrecognizable blob of food go only in my mouth? Why can't it stay on your tray, or be given to dad, or placed in the bowl with the rest of your discarded leftovers? Why do you demand that that piece must be fed to me? Sigh.

Gleeful.

Lucas seems to basically understand 85% of what we tell him. It's crazy. His ability to understand longer and longer strings of words is amazing. But, of course, he is still just a little kid. And so when I'm trying to talk him through why I would rather he place the food blob somewhere other than my mouth, he starts getting super frustrated. "Mom! You don't understand! This food has to go in your mouth right now. Can I be any more specific about what I want?!" It's hard being a tiny person who doesn't verbally communicate and who cannot parse his parent's statement of "I don't like to be fed cold squished foods." I can already hear it now: "But why, mom? Why won't you eat it?" Because it's GROSS, kid.

Silly.

We "read" books all day long. We have about 45 books checked out from the library at any time. It's fantastic. Lucas will run to the door and attempt to leave the house when you say, "Let's go to the library." He will take my hand, walk me over to one of his specific reading spots throughout the house [because, no, he doesn't want to read in the chair in the living room; he wants to read in a particular spot on the floor in the dining room BECAUSE PREFERENCES], position me just so, and back up until he plops down in my lap. And then we read. And identify every animal, goldbug, and familiar picture. Two or three times. Rinse and repeat.

Luckily, I love reading and I especially love reading with this warm, sturdy little body sitting in my lap. It's the best. But, I'll be honest. I'm not a huge fan of reading a book fifteen times and still having no clue what is going on because of page skipping, absolute obsession with only the first three pages, absolute disinterest in the last four pages, or only spending 1.3 seconds on a page. Do the chickies ever go to bed? How does Clifford get home? Why is it important that the bear now has a rabbit friend? I don't understand the knitting penguins AT ALL. Sigh.

Irresistible.

Obviously my brain can't handle this many incomplete stories, so sometimes I take matters into my own hands and try to read the book on my own. Sixty seconds, that's all I want. Sixty seconds to quickly read through this undoubtedly predictable children's book so I can have my peace of mind again. Fine, I'll settle for thirty seconds and a general idea of everything that occurs. Is that so much to ask? Yes, yes, it is according to a certain 32-some-odd inch person. As soon as Lucas spots what I'm doing [especially when this is a book that he has deemed not fit to read ("Child, what are you basing this on?!")], he runs over and closes the book. If I try to read it again, he closes the book and takes it away. If I keep doing it, he starts to get frustrated. But, but, why? His consistency in doing this is pretty hilarious, though I really have no idea why he does what he does [this is becoming the case more and more often]. He's a barrel of laughs and perplexity. I love him so incredibly much.

Every so often Jason will ask me, "So, do you like your life? Is it everything you hoped?" My answer is always a soul-resounding yes. Even on the fragile, on-edge days with all of the food thrown on the floor; the Boy in his mismatched, not-so-clean, sock-less attire; and the eighteen perpetually unfinished books strewn about the house and my brain. Even then, or perhaps even especially then, it is absolutely everything I have ever hoped or imagined. 

signs

Recently, we have been teaching Lucas sign language for various simple things. He obviously knows a lot of words and understands much of what we say to him, but since he's so far reluctant to speak, we thought that signing would allow him to communicate to us what he wants sometimes. Plus, you know, a baby doing sign language, right? That's pretty cute.

Among other things, we taught him the sign for "more" so that at mealtime when he finishes his food, he can tell us whether he's done or if he wants more. We learned two things: First, a baby signing for more food really is very cute. Second, he always wants more. He is not ever really done eating. What's that, you say? He finished all the food we prepared for him? But that's not all the food in the house, right? There is applesauce in the fridge, right? Yeah. Go get him some applesauce. Kid's not done. He wants... more.

With very inconsistent results, we have been asking him to "be patient" when he wants something that we plan to give him but don't have ready yet (or for some reason don't yet want to give him) if he's fussing for it. Sometimes he will stop fussing, sometimes not. Usually it at least causes a pause of a few seconds (maybe he thinks "be patient" means "ok, I will give it to you, but only if you stop fussing for just 2 seconds, man!" [which, now that I think about it, it sort of does mean]). Still, he can only be patient for so long. Then, if his mood is right (wrong?) he's right back to fussing for it. I guess I can understand. It's not like he can just tell us what he wants. But he wants us to know that he wants something. Telling him to be patient acknowledges that we understand him, but it doesn't always work. However, what's usually more successful is that Sharayah taught him the sign for "please." If he's asking for something and we ask him to say "please," he stops fussing and does the sign, and then looks at us expectantly. Of course, this only works for things that we plan to (or are ok with) giving him anyway, but it's very effective and he seems to like that he can express his desires.

Hold on, though. It gets cuter. Lucas really likes cheese sticks, so sometimes for a snack or (more commonly) with a meal we give him little pieces torn off of a cheese stick. He loves it. A lot. Enough to ask for it frequently. Enough to drive home the "please" sign. He started just walking up and signing "please" instead of fussing and being asked first. Then Sharayah taught him "thank you." So he would walk up, sign "please," get his cheese, and (upon being prompted) sign "thank you." Then. He starting walking up, quickly signing "please" and "thank you" in quick succession and holding his hand out expectantly.

So maybe he doesn't quite understand the intricacies of language. Maybe he thinks "if I do this motion, they get all happy and give me cheese and applesauce!" Still, being played by a polite baby is better (and more adorable) than having him fuss at you. I call it a win.

two things, and then one more

2016. Here we go. Goal: Blog more than once every four months.

So much has been going on, so many good and tiring and exciting and stressful and fascinating things, but Life [read: Bedtime] demands that I only touch on a few of them in this post. I will touch on two of the Things. Two Things and One Random Factoid. 

First of the Things: We live in a house. It is a pretty house. It is the perfect house for Us Now and Us Down the Road. We have a master bedroom [which took several nights to get accustomed to since it felt like "the parents' room"] with a vaulted ceiling so high that Jason's best leap cannot even get him close to the center beam. We have a garage [Lucas loves opening and closing the garage door] and a backyard with a giant play set and two trash cans to drag out each Tuesday and Wednesday and a finished walk-out basement and bedrooms galore for future kpluBlets and so many other good things. We Christmas-ed with just the three of us and our house. We survived the never ending rain and were grateful to not be in a flood plain. We celebrated the beginning of 2016 by going to sleep before midnight. Already, we have had such good times in our new place. It is a good house. We feel at home already.  

Second of the Things: The door leading to the basement has a cat door. It is a perk that has been amazing. We now have all things related to Smelly-Cat-ness located in the bathroom in the basement. This is something we have always wanted to do. Success! Anywho, this cat door fascinates Lucas. He loves to peer through it and see if Puma is lurking on the steps. He loves to stick his arm through and feel around for the fluffy tail. It's pretty funny and cute, right? But then, the other day, Lucas discovered he could meow. The cutest little meow you ever did hear. So now he squats in front of the cat door, opens it up with his little arm, and meows for the cat. You know, because he wasn't adorable enough. Plus, any time Puma meows, Lucas will meow back. Puma is generally unimpressed and I am usually dying from cute overload. 

In case you are wondering, nothing ever really gets done in our house. We mostly just stare at Lucas and try to wrap our brains around how smart and hilarious he is. The floors go un-vacuumed, the dishes go unwashed, and there might be a trail of kindasorta used tissues strewn about ever since Lucas found out he could blow his nose, but boy is there a lot of clapping and laughing and high-five-ing every time the Boy learns something new [basically, every 15 seconds]. It's a grand time. I love my family.

The Random Factoid: **obligatory TMI warning** Earwax. Everyone does not have the same kind of earwax. Truths.

I never knew that earwax could be yellow and wet and sticky and all-around gross. Never knew. The only earwax I was familiar with was my own and, in the past year, Lucas's. We both have, what I always thought was, "normal" earwax, the dry and flaky and whitish earwax. The earwax that doesn't seem any more gross than, say, scraping a dried squash seed off the floor. Jason has always made comments about his gross earwax and he always made a big deal about cleaning off his earbuds before each use. I just figured it was because he's a little OCD about things and made fun of him as was appropriate.

But then, sometime after the arrival of Lucas, we actually had a discussion about earwax [stemming from my obsession with cleaning out Lucas's ears while he nursed]. And we discovered that Jason's experience with earwax was not at all like mine. And so we dug further [ha, gross pun!]. And we discovered that Lucas and I have a different earwax than Jason, in color, consistency, texture, etc. Weird? Well, I kiddingly attributed it to our awesome Asian genetics and left it at that. But the other day, I suddenly remembered that I had wanted to google this earwax topic but had never gotten around to it.

Jackpot: What Your Earwax Says About Your Ancestry

If you don't care to read the article, here's the summary: East Asians [and Native Americans apparently?] seem to have superior genes that allow their earwax to be dry and smell-less and not gross. Not only that, but the same genes are also responsible for the lack of armpit smells. It's going to sound gross but I have to say it here, once and for all: This explains why I only use deodorant MAYBE twice a year. See, it sounds like a gross thing to admit to, but come now, it's actually the exact opposite... Am I bragging? Yes, yes, I am. Don't judge.

Okay. I'll leave it at that. Two Things and One Random Factoid. You're welcome.

Here's a hamster. To un-gross your minds.

dusting off the ol' keyboard

I have moved twice since the last time I posted a blog. I have an alert on my phone from October 31st telling me to write a blog, and that was already after a 3-month gap. I guess I dropped the ball a little bit. There are many things that I could talk about, but I will just stick to one topic for this blog, in the hopes that I can start posting more frequently. In this post, I give the primary reason for my lack of posting: my new job.

I heard a funny (or so I thought) saying about teaching sometime in the last year or so. It was something along these lines: "Being a teacher is great because you have a very flexible schedule: I can work whichever 60 hours per week that I want!" Man, I really thought that was a joke. I chuckled to myself a little bit. It was not going to be that bad for me.

Well, I didn't keep track of hours exactly, but for my first semester teaching at MBU teaching took a huge amount of time. Planning lectures for 3 different courses that I had never taught from textbooks I had never read kept me busy pretty much every day. It ate every bit of what could have been free time after Lucas went to sleep. Most weeks, I found the time to take one evening off. Sure, I could have worked while Lucas was awake, but I already missed so much time with him while I was at work. Every day when I got home (or sometimes through text while I was still at work) I'd hear from Sharayah all the hilarious things he did, or the new things he learned, or the new things he could do. It was really hard missing so much, so once I got home each day I spent as much time with Lucas as possible. That was the choice I made.

I am truly thankful for my flexible schedule. If I had been offered a job with conventional hours and no work to do in the evenings but no time with Lucas in the morning and being away from home until 5:30 or 6 each day, I would have refused. I got to be with my happy little family in our happy little apartment by 3:30 or 4 every day, and many mornings I didn't have to leave for work until 10. For that I traded my evenings. It was worth it. Of course, in the coming semesters I plan to get the best of both worlds. Eventually, as I start teaching more and more classes that I've already taught before, I will be able to do my lecture planning much more quickly.

(Rereading those paragraphs, I feel like it might come off as though I only miss Lucas while I'm at work. Of course, I miss Sharayah as well, but she doesn't go to bed at 7. I get to spend time with her even while I work at night.)

Hopefully this doesn't come off sounding like I'm complaining. I've really enjoyed teaching this semester, and I know that time-wise it will only get better. As always I had to battle against the strange apathy of many students (why would you pay to go to college and then make no effort to learn anything?), but I also had students who put in huge amounts of effort, in particular in an upper-level pure math class that I taught. For most of them, it was their first theory and proof-based math class (as opposed to a computational math class), which is always a very difficult step. I think most universities start proof earlier on in easier classes, but these students had really had no experience with proof. Many of them coped with it impressively. However, I am still proposing a few classes to be added to the math program to better prepare students for this and other upper-level proof-based courses. I have some pretty big plans for the math program here. Hopefully I'll be here for a long while.

wish come true

Dear Lucas,

I wished for you upon a shooting star. You're my little star baby come true. You're my answered prayer. You're my tiny miraculous wonder.

It was a chilly, wet evening. Your dad, Uncle Shawn, and I were making a few laps around a darkened walking track. I had underestimated how cold it would be that night and was regretting not bringing along a hoodie, but I found the chill in the air exciting, invigorating, a whisper of a reminder that winter was right around the corner. The thought of winter made me feel hoppy, giddy with the images of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and snow dancing around my head.

And then, right in the middle of my hopping and skipping, I saw it. For the first time ever, I saw a star go streaking across the sky. I couldn't believe it. I had always wanted to see a shooting star. It was on my bucket list of things to experience. And here it was! My shooting star!

Your dad and uncle hadn't seemed to notice that they had left me behind and were just plodding on ahead, probably still in the middle of an engaging conversation about some Atari game featuring Captain Picard playing baseball against Chewbacca. Or something like that. I nearly took off running after them to share my star excitement and I nearly forgot to make a wish. Nearly. But not quite.

I made my wish upon that shooting star, just for fun, just because that was a thing I had always wanted to do, just so I could have that one moment of childlike anticipation. I squinched my eyes closed as tight as they would go, and I wished. I wished, wished, wished for you, Lucas. I wished for you to come into this world. I wished for God to choose me to be your mommy. I wished for you to be my special little boy, my little hug buddy, my chubby partner in crime. I wished to know you, to hold you, to love you. I squinched my eyes and wished, wished, wished.

You are my fantastic star wish come true, lovebug.

I never knew how much love I could give until I met you. Watching you grow up this past year has been one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. You smile and frustrations melt. You laugh and everything makes sense. You hug me and time loses all meaning. You squeal and hop and wave your arms around and I'm pretty sure flowers just up and grow. Seriously. Getting to know you and getting to love you has made the last 365 days a true joy, memorable and fulfilling beyond words. I cannot wait to see the man you grow up to be.

Oh but please, please, please don't grow up too fast. Gnaw on the broom. Smoosh your nose on the screen door. Belly laugh until you're out of breath over me pretending to be a Rockette. Be my little boy for a little while longer. You're only one year old; there are so many more things just waiting to be drooled on.

Oh, Lucas, how I love you so. You are a gift from God, adorably wrapped in the squishiest of packages.

-Mamamama

"I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him."

- 1 Samuel 1:27

PS. Choosing just one picture from each week of your life was ridiculously hard. God gave you two extra doses of cute.

Happy first birthday, my little munchkin.