Chronicles of Now

Noah is one month shy of four and a half years old.  Rosie is seven months.

Noah’s face currently looks like this:

Road rash

(Running down a steep street, he tripped, broke his fall with his face, broke his face with the fall, and then he cried. And then I cried.)

Rosie eats wagon wheels, smearing sticky booger like globs all over her face and clothes.  She hearts pears and carrots (warmed slightly, if you please), but if she had the fine motor skills, I’m pretty sure she’d give squash the middle finger.

Tonight I read three bedtime stories to Noah, the first being “Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost.  Inside the front cover it says in neat cursive “To Rachel who was so beautiful as Mary in the Christmas program and sang her song so sweetly. With love from Grandmother and Granddaddy.”  After the first page, which reads “Whose woods these are I think I know,” Noah, laying on the pillow next to me, turned his mouth to touch my ear and whispered, “It’s God.”

Rosie swam in the pool today for the very first time. She’d smack the water heartily, and then blink and sputter and cough in surprise at the water that hit her in the face as a result. Then she’d smack the water again, and the level of surprise at the corresponding face splash would be exactly as intense as it was the first time.  This went on for a while, until someone pooped in the pool and we went home.

Noah can read anything he sees, which means that instead of getting the God-given parental reprieve of spelling things so that the child does not know what you’re talking about, we instead have to come up with ridiculously large vocabulary words to substitute for regular ones in conversation.  Sample from today: “I was thinking we might be able to go to the vast reservoir of chlorinated H2O today with the offspring, do you think we have time?”

Rosie gets up every day by 5:30, and L gets up with her.  Trust me when I say that the world is a better place because of this arrangement.  It’s hard to be grumpy about the early hour though (obviously this is second hand information) when you are greeted with kicking feet, bright eyes and a (practically, save one itty bitty sliver) toothless grin.  “Da? Da?” I always hear Rosie babble as she and L close the door leaving me in the dark bedroom to sleep.

These are things I want to remember.


1 Leigh Ann { 06.17.09 at 7:44 am }

so sweet.

btw, either your son is ridiculously smart or my daughter has a learning disability. she doesn’t even know all the letters yet. considering who his parents are, i think he is ridiculously smart. :)

2 alianora { 06.17.09 at 11:54 am }

Ouch! That looks like it HURT. Both for you and him!

Also of note: the completely awesome header of L going down the slip and slide fully clothed.

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