The Perpsective of a Dult

Thomas is quick to point out that I am a dult (an adult) and he is a kid.  With dulthood, comes interesting perspective.  I find that as I get further into dulthood, my perspective changes.

For example, as we round the corner on Mother's Day, I realize just why we celebrate moms.  Contrary to Mike's adamance, Mother's Day was NOT the brainchild of a greeting card company.  It's because moms are universally trying to do the best that they can for their children.  Sometimes it doesn't look it from the outside (like when you drive by my house and see Thomas playing hockey in the driveway and me checking my email or Facebook), but let me assure you it's the best that I can muster at that given moment.

But I would prefer to be acknowledged not for my minor guilty pleasures like checking my phone.  I would prefer that Thomas and Ryan, and I guess you, remember other things instead.

This Mother's Day, I made the hard choice.  I chose to let the paint sit.  Instead of finishing the much needed painting of our back deck, I let it sit untouched while I was busy playing with the boys.

Playing in the grass with Little One

Playing in the grass with Little Buddy

I make the sometimes painful choice to let the boys fail.  It sounds dramatic, but little failures now, I hope, will help them see that we fail, we are ultimately fine, and we move on.  Case and point, letting Ryan tip over.

Tipsy

Whiny

Scoping it all out

Happy again

I try to let Thomas exercise his imagination.  It often leads us down very familiar roads with a little Thomas twist.

"We're going to soccer at West Point."

"Get over here closer to me so I can feed ya."

"Mama, say cheese and I will leave you alone."  Now where would he have head that?

Coffee anyone?

Despite the accusations of running a slave labor yardwork operation here, we prefer to think that we have fostered our love of work in Thomas.

He has graduated to a real, full-sized blower

At nearly every teachable moment, I still try to give Thomas new vocabulary.  For example, I'm trying to move away from all bovines being cows.  First up, "bull."    Here's how it went down:

Mama: That is a bull, which is a boy cow.
Thomas: Bull?
M: Yes.  Boy cows are called bulls and girl cows are called cows.  Would you like to see a picture of a bull tomorrow at breakfast?
T: Yes.
Next morning:
T: Mama, where is a picture of that thing?
M: What thing?
T: You know.  That thing you told me you would show me at breakfast?
M: What thing?
T (exasperated): You know! 
M: Oh, a bull?
T: Yeah.
M: Here is a picture of Mama riding a bull.  See those huge horns on him?

T: Is it real?
M: Yes it's real.  Those are really big horns, aren't they?
T: But Mama, is it real?
M: Yeah, buddy.
T: Then why are you in a parking lot or a street?
M: Now that is an excellent question, Little Buddy.
*answer is we were at the stockyard in Fort Worth, TX (pre Thomas)

Now that Ryan weighs 25 pounds (yes, that is huge), I am desperately trying to get him to move around on his own, be it crawling or walking.  Training has included lots of just out of reach items, strategic placement, and loads of coaxing.

The duck was not enough of a lure

In spite of the tears that we all shed (mostly Thomas and Ryan), the bad hair (mostly Ryan and me),  the questionable outfits (all of us), I hope that what gets remembered is how happy these boys are and how happy they've made us.