In my imagined version of what it would be like to raise children, those children picked up where I had left off with music. They loved to sing before they could even talk. When I introduced early piano lessons, they spent hours dedicated to wringing skill out of their fingers. They practiced guitar until their fingers were red.
Those were not the children I got. They sing – but only when no one can hear. Practicing was a huge struggle when we tried it. They just weren’t ready.
Now with music, there are different entry points. The world class violinists start at 3 or 4. The pianists 5 or 6. Even Thane is probably too old to be world class in some instruments. But… a child is physically too small to play a brass or wind instrument until they’re around 10, which is perfect since that’s much closer to the age at which a (normal) kid is more ready to spend long term focus working on a remote goal. (Well, at least my kids.) So although I’ve watched that particular parental daydream disappear – along with any girl-daydream and my quiet dark-haired poet daydream – I prefer my actual real children over my daydreams.
But my parents thought I was not very musical after years of piano lessons in which I didn’t really focus or practice or excel. And then I hit trumpet and the world was a new and beautiful place and music took a central place in my life. So, there is hope.
And then, last Tuesday, a huge moment came. Instrument rental night. My last best hope for a child to follow in my musical footsteps.
Now, I tried really, really, really hard not to make this too big a deal for Grey. I casually asked if he wanted to do band. (Please note: band is at 4 pm on Monday afternoons. School gets out at 2:20. So I had to switch Grey’s afterschool to school afterschool instead of Y afterschool on Mondays to make this work. SO MANY LOGISTICS. What a terrible time for a working parent!) Then I lightly inquired if he’d thought about what instrument he wanted to play.
“I want to play trumpet!” – words every parent wants to hear.
When asked why, there were many answers. “It only has three buttons! It’s the easiest!” “I love how it sounds.” Then in a quiet, vulnerable moment… “Because I want you to be proud of me.”
Ah. How clearly our children see us. It breaks my heart a little that my son is searching for ways to win my approval, as though it is some elusive and difficult substance. But yet… he is right. I cannot stop my heart from glowing that he picked my instrument. He’s asked me to teach him, and begged me for lessons every night since. I am not sure I have ever seen him more excited than he was the night we went to get his instrument. “I’m not actually sure I’ve been more excited myself, mom.”
I hear him working his way through to “Hot Cross Buns”. I remember a little girl on her front porch, some 27 years ago, doing the same. And I can only hope that he has as much joy of his instrument as I had and still have of mine.
I rode my bike a lot as a kid. This was back in another era, where a 2nd grader’s primary form of transportation was not “mom” but “myself”. I had the most beautiful wine-red Schwinn – with gears! I loved that thing dearly. I remember registering it with the police, somberly. (I mean, who wouldn’t want to steal that glorious machine?!)
That bike and I went all over town – to the roller rink, the swimming pool (often), Bonanza 88 (home to things I could actually afford on my allowance). We went to friends houses and parks. All this while I was younger than Grey is now. I remember once when Heidi and I went to the Tri-Cities for a ride on a bike path. There was a key issue which resurfaced several times in my childhood regarding my sister’s complete lack of navigational skills. (Ask me about the time we went to Tumwater when we were attempting to go to Tukwila.) The upshot was that 9 year old Brenda and 11 year old Heidi were massively lost miles and miles from home on our bikes in a pre-cellphone era. I remember being very thirsty and hot. You’ll be glad to hear that we did finally reconnect with our parents at some point.
It got harder when we moved to Mineral. NOTHING was a block away from our first house – it was over a mile to Dick’s store. And once you did that mile there was… Dick’s Store. It’s more like 6 – on steep hills with no shoulders and logging trucks – to the next interesting thing to do. Which was Elbe – not high on the list of interesting. My interest in my wine-red Schwinn waned as my interest in the dark, loamy forest paths waxed.
When I was maybe 13 my sister got in a near-fatal bike accident. I failed to understand the gravity, and made fun of her mummy-like bandages. She would likely have died without a helmet. As it was, I permanently lost my “stitches” competition with her, as she had scars across her face. (Happily, they are not -much- there now.) And that was pretty much the last time I rode a bike. I didn’t really realize it. There wasn’t a moment where I looked at my bike and thought “I’m never getting on THAT death-trap again!” I just didn’t have cause to ride. And so I didn’t.
At my college graduation, my parents offered to buy me an espresso machine. This was a brilliant idea, as I’ve never met a more caffeinated person than myself. Being eminently practical, I asked for a bike instead. I had two months that summer at the college with no transport, working on the college website. And summer at college is entirely different than college at college. I did ride my bike to get groceries, but uneasily. Nervously. Since that summer, it has sat unused in a variety of basements. (I actually got it all tuned and ready to go days before I busted my knee!)
But now my sons are nine and six. Next spring they break ground on the bikeway. Grey already has a small measure of independence but longs for more. In 15 months he’ll be going to middle school – and I have no intention of driving him there. On a bike, a kid from Stoneham can get to a pool, a forest, parks galore, a lake, the soccer fields, golf courses … the world within 5 miles of our house is wide and varied and wondrous. Even if they never take advantage of that liberty, I can’t quite imagine sending a young adult into the world who doesn’t know how to ride a bike, even if they don’t choose to do so. So the last few weeks I’ve been sneaking into parking lots with the kids, attempting to teach them.
Thane doesn’t have training wheels, and is still crashing and burning all the time. (Which is not fun.) Therefore I am spending a lot of time running behind him holding on to him. (Also not fun.) He’s gone two or three pedal strokes, but is not there yet.
But Grey… this last week Grey got it. He’s been able to kind of go 20 feet without falling down for a year or so. But he couldn’t get himself started, or turn, or you know… ride. But this weekend, he figured out how to start from a stop. He’s gone in circles and circles around the buildings. He can stop gracefully. My heart sang at the pride in his face, and enjoyment. “Mom, can we go bike riding tonight?”
On Saturday, Grey and I will go to the Breakheart Reservation and try out the bike trails there. I’m not sure who I’m more nervous for – him or me. But I am sure it’s going to be awesome!
I sent a perfectly intact child to school this morning. The kid I came home to has a hole in his head!
As if I don’t have enough angsty change to deal with, with one of my sweet little babies turning nine, one of my sweet little babies starting Kindergarten, and now a missing tooth! It’s like the universe is trying to tell me that I don’t have any babies, I have boys!
Thane swallowed his tooth. (Rookie move.) I tried to convince him that the tooth fairy would just operate on him in his sleep (he still clearly totally buys the whole tooth fairy thing), but he insisted that his stomach acid would dissolve the tooth. How can a kid be so smart and yet so gullible?
He wrote a note to the tooth fairy, in lieu of the tooth. Being that he’s in his third week in Kindergarten, it’s pretty unreadable. As far as I can tell it says, Dear Tooth Fairy, I lost my too-th. It fell out and I don’t know where my lost tooth is.” He said he wrote it in bands like a rainbow, only this was three bands and rainbows have seven. I think the green thing is a picture of the tooth. I promise that the actual tooth was not green at the time of loss.
It was almost a month ago that I made the journey north to New Hampshire to pick up my son from Camp Wilmot. I had to get up crazy early in the morning for a Saturday, like 7 am, but I was so eager to see my son again – to hear how it had gone – that I was markedly less grumpy than you would expect. (I am _not_ a morning person.)
I arrived at the camp just a bit early – just like I had been to drop him off. Sure sign of a noobie parent a little anxious about her first-born, I think. Grey was just headed up the hill as I pulled in and I got the biggest, completest, least “hey-that’s-not-cool-my-friends-are-watching” hug ever. I breathed in deeply as I held him tight, and felt that all was well. (Happily this might be less dangerous than you think as daily trips to the lake nicely negated the complete neglect evidenced by the optimistic soap I’d put in his dopp kit.) He introduced me to some friends, and I gathered his belongings and watched the “Purple cabin” clean up the firepit before we all settled into the cafeteria for the closing ceremonies.
They started with a flash from the past. The campers and counselors did “Energizers” familiar to prior generations of Christian campers. I was amazed that “Star Trekkin'” – not an obviously Presbyterian tune – was as popular 25 years later and 3000 miles away as it was in the Presbytery of Olympia in my youth. The spirit moves in truly mysterious ways. I watched Grey, my eyes hungry for him. (Constantinope and Star Trekkin here ) He was in the penultimate row, hidden behind the much taller, more confident kids in front of him. I’m used to Grey being the biggest one – the oldest in our group of friends, the tallest in any portrait. On this day, he was the baby, unsure, learning, in the back. He was circled gently by a loving ring of twice-his-height counselors and I could tell by how they all moved together that these young men had helped Grey through what I know was a challenging week for him. I watched my son slightly out of synch and a step behind the others (an unusual spot for him) and wondered what he’d say to me when we got in the car and he was ready to talk.
There was some song singing (unfamiliar to me – I stopped listening to Christian Pop with Amy Grant) and then they launched in on a photomontage of the week. A number of the kids had opted for photography lessons, and to the accompaniment of more Christian pop I didn’t recognize. I was terribly grateful for this chance (never offered to my parents) to see his week through the eyes of his fellow campers. (Best of all, the CD of the pics was for sale. WIN!) Grey didn’t show up until about 20 in, and in the early pictures he looked shy. But as the pictures went on, he started to show up more – in the funny outfits, kayaking, hiking (an area where he apparently distinguished himself).
He fell, exhausted, into the car after all the goodbyes had been said. He had seemed very reserved, but passionately wanted a t-shirt, and the pictures. His counselors told me he’d been great.
“So what do you think?” I asked, heart in my throat.
“I can’t wait to go back next year! Man, I’m soooooo tired!”
It was exactly what I hoped to hear.
Here are some of the fast facts I’ve been able to wrest out of him:
They stayed up until past ten every night. The night they stayed up to see the stars, it was 11.
Archery was his favorite part.
He’s totally going back next year.
The food was the best, especially the BBQ chicken the first night
They had a wacky clothes day. He crazily wore his SOCKS on his HANDS.
We did this one hilarious skit …. and then we said, “oh no, a horsefly!” and pretended to panic. It was soooo funny!
Also, horseflies are a near-mortal peril
He wasn’t a fan of the Scottish country dancing. “It was ok I guess”. I was jealous.
The worship didn’t seem to make a big impression on him, but he liked some of the music. I have NO IDEA what songs/artists they were listening to, so I haven’t been able to spring it on him. Anyone know what was likely?
Since he came home, Camp Wilmot has been sprinkled sparingly in his conversation. A note about what Ethan said once. This hilARIOUS skit they did. How much he liked the food. How he can totally stay up later than this. I asked him, tonight, what I should tell you about Camp Wilmot.
“Tell them” he said “That Camp Wilmot is a great place to go if you want to make friends. If you need some time alone, they give it to you. If you need some help, they’re there. If you want fun, there’s tons of fun. Tell them they will like Camp Wilmot!”
Consider yourself told.
PS – I notice he’s wearing the same shirt in all these pictures. In at least one of the pictures, he’s wearing a different shirt. What I don’t know for a fact doesn’t hurt me, right? Maybe these pictures were all on the same day, right? Right?
My firstborn son went to his first day of his first year of school. I have been anticipating this day for, oh, about 6+ years now. There’s trepidation and excitement: will he love school like I did? Have I taught him the right amount of the right things? Did I do everything I was supposed to do in order to do this first handoff? From now on, he will have to choose to do the things he is supposed to do, and I’m just the supporting cast.
The first day of Kindergarten was a big day for me.
Not for him. You could almost hear the “yeah yeah” as he happily ran ahead of me to the door. He tried to convince me that I could just drop him off. That I didn’t have to come in. That he was FINE thanks mom! There was, I think, a brief rolling of eyes when I held out my hand. He spotted his teacher and whoosh! He was gone – pausing only to give me a high-five on his way out the door.
The other parents and I looked at each other and shrugged. I guess that was it. My neighbor gave me a hug.
All day I wondered how it was going. Was he having fun? (More fun than I was having, I’d warrant!) Was he starting off on the right foot? Was anyone making fun of him or his lunch or anything?
When I picked him up from afterschool care, I asked how the day had gone. “Awesome!” He filled us in on the details: they play music at lunch, they played a fighting game in computer class, gym was his favorite part (a candy-filled pinata seemed to influence that decision), a kid had bullied him but the situation had been quickly and favorably resolved (I am having particular trouble figuring out what really happened with this one), all his friends had a great day too.
There are moments when, all of a sudden, your place in life lurches forward.
Tonight, for the first time, Thane used the toilet for the purpose it was intended. Twice. Let the record show that he is 2 1/4, and bribed with lollipops. (Actually, I made it a joint endeavor and bribed both him AND Grey so that I wouldn’t deal with melty Grey when Thane got a treat and he didn’t, and so that Grey would have a motivation to help potty train his brother.)
My sweet Thane boy seems so far from a baby, sometimes.
And then, tomorrow morning? I’m going to go to South School and sign my eldest up for Kindergarten in the fall. Which, I must admit. It seems well PAST time for him to be in Kindergarten. But still! School!
Today I am filling out forms for Grey’s Kindergarten registration in the fall. I’m pretty sure what I’m supposed to be feeling is How fast the time flies! It seems like he was a baby just yesterday! It can’t possibly already be time for my preshus snowflake to go to school, can it? What I really feel like is You have got to be kidding me. Kid was more than ready THIS fall. It seems like he’s been a big, grownup-person forever… you sure he was actually a baby? Really? Huh, go figure. In point of fact, Grey is five and has been for several months now. He missed the cutoff by four weeks this year.
To say it succinctly: I’m ready. He’s ready. Let’s do this Kindergarten thing.
Since Grey will be attending public schools, I figured that Kindergarten would be my payola — the moment where huge chunks of change returned to my budget. Currently, child care is a bigger cost for us than our mortgage. And we live within 10 miles of Boston in a 4 bedroom house. This is to say… it is a not inconsiderable expense. So Kindergarten will be huge savings, right? Right?
It turns out that while there is free part day Kindergarten, ALL DAY Kindergarten costs money. $3500 to be exact. Ok, so that’s really not bad. It’s like 3 months of preschool. BUT, we’ll have to have after-school care. That (including transportation) is $500 a month. Oh, and remember school vacations? Those end up costing $56/day. So do snow days. So…. yeah. Not really saving anything there. First grade. First grade will be the payola…
Returning to the pastel nostalgia of Kindergarten! School! My child’s entree into education! I’m pretty excited. I think Grey is superbly prepared for it. The sitting still problem will be his biggest challenge of Kindergarten, as it is for so many energetic young children. I’m slightly concerned that his reading ability will pose some challenges for his classroom, but I figure we all have to worry about something, and that’s a good something. I will NOT accept from him complaints about being bored. In that case, the thing he’ll need to learn from his classroom is how to deal with boredom in a productive way. That’s a super-useful life skill that will come in handy in adulthood.
I had meant this to be a chance to talk about Grey, and how much fun he is. Because he’s super duper awesome. It was really fantastic to get to spend lots of time with him at Christmas. He’s got an active imagination and a wide repertoire of blowing-up noises. He can be tenderly solicitous (he likes to make little Lego “babies” which he says are “so cute!”). He can also be very rough and tumble. Over Christmas, he spent considerable time with his 8 year old cousin, and barring a few hungry/tired related meltdowns, he did an excellent job of keeping up with his cousin.
If you ask Grey what his favorite things are, he will tell you “Screens”. And he’s probably right. Although we attempt to limit screen time, Grey loves cartoons and tv, his DS (he only gets to play in the car/on airplanes/when we really need him to), Wii, the iPad, the computer and all manner of screens. At Christmas, I confess, there was significant brain-rottage.
It’s hard to capture the unfolding complexity of your child. He is striving desperately to tell funny jokes, poring over joke-books to try to figure it out. He is surprisingly patient and sweet to his younger brother… most of the time. They created this new game he calls “Ready Freddy” which involves hiding, having your brother find you, then screaming and running away to do it again. He likes to read, but usually only when there’s no more alluring option. He loves Legos and Bakugan and Pokemon cards. He could care less about cars and isn’t wildly interested in art or drawing, although he really likes mazes. He insists on having music playing at night while he goes to sleep. He sleeps with all his stuffed animals piled on his bed and makes special accommodations for Tigry and Puppy. He can play Blokus with actual strategy.
I find myself having more and more things I WANT to do with Grey. I want to play games with him. I want to take him to see the movies. I want to take him shopping with me. (He begged to go grocery shopping with me this last week and did a phenomenal job!) I want to read him books. I want to teach him how to ride a bike.
It’s much harder with younger children. I sometimes look at Mr. Two Year Old and think… “What do I DO with you?” But I can play with Grey in a way that’s fun for me, too.
He’s a fun kid. I’m glad he’s mine.
OK, I should probably disclaim that I have bronchitis and am hopped up on 300% more drugs than usual… usually I just abuse caffeine. So in case this doesn’t actually have any narrative structure (I, um, have my doubts) here are some bonus pictures to make you forget!
This time of year is commonly called “Back to School” time. Ah! How I have loved it. I have this mismash of memories: the sharp box of crayons all lined up by color, the cut brown and orange leaves hanging on the wall, the course outline printed next to the computer, the syllabus slipped into the front cover of a blank notebook, the snap of a trapper-keeper with a ream of paper and a pencil holder in front. I loved every bit of it. I loved the newness and the fresh start. I loved the office supplies. I loved school. In college, I loved all parts of it: social, cultural and academic all swirling together in one caffeinated delight.
Perhaps one of the things I miss most in my working life is the ‘back to school’ sense. My job is the same: winter and summer. It is never finished or finishable. It doesn’t change. I miss that fresh trapper, new syllabus feeling.
The older you get, the fewer firsts you have. My first day of school, ever, I do not even recall. My first kiss is a dim memory. My first job, apartment, pregnancy, home purchase and production database mistake are all in my past. Today I have another first.
Today is my first first day of school as a parent. Grey started preschool this morning. He’ll be going all day, three days a week. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays he will be a Caterpillar taking his first steps down the path of education. Who knows how far he’ll walk down that path. Will he love it? Take to it like a fish to water? Will he struggle? Will he excel in fields I never considered? He will go into that preschool classroom with a Spongebob blanket for naptime, a command of the alphabet and his own charm. He will fall deeply in love with his teacher, or not. He will make friends. He will make enemies. He will make mistakes. He will make pipe-cleaner art projects we will put proudly on the wall. He will decide he loves school. He will decide he doesn’t. He will go with the flow.
It is too much to say that this is the first step on the path to the rest of his life. He’s already trod down that path. He does know how to read – a little. He knows his alphabet. He can count to sixty before getting bored. He knows how to make friends and play tag. This is just the next step on the path to which his feet have already been set.
Part of my wild weekend of hedonism and home makeovers was a BBQ in Watertown with some friends. The place was (quite literally) crawling with babies. Happily, it was a great spot for it. I plopped down on a lovely quilt with my son, snagged some delicious food and settled in to felicity.
Grey – the oldest child present – had a great time bouncing between groups. He’s getting to a point where we can take a step back in supervision. He usually makes pretty good decisions, doesn’t run off (although every once in a while he hides — happily I can almost always find him by following the giggling) and does a good job of following rules. This earns you a longer leash.
Thane, of course, still needs to be kept very close. As I mentioned, Thane has been increasingly interested in standing and walking. With a friend and my mother-in-law, we attempted to talk him into taking a few steps between waiting arms. He tried a number of amusing not-walking things. (Aside: what trust a child has to lean all the way back into your waiting hands. If had let him fall, it would’ve hurt. He did not think that I might let him fall.)
Thane loves loves loves clapping. BINGO is his favorite song. (He’ll clap along.) After he NEARLY took a step, I clapped in delight for him. Eager to get more clapping, he took two steps to me and was duly rewarded! Yay! 10 months old. His first, halting, head-long steps came just as he turned 10 months. More will follow, quickly.
It’s also been amazing to watch him start to talk. He likes to play with hands. So he has this trick he does where he’ll turn his wrist in a wave and say “buh-bye”. Of course, grownups can’t resist waving back. And then he can grab your hand and play with it. I think he may also say “ball”, “da da”, “hi” and (I swear) “Gwey”. He parroted a phrase I said this morning in the car. (It was like “I think so”. And he made similar sounds in the same cadence.)
Where has my baby gone? Who left this big boy in his place? This walking, talking, thinking, laughing human being with teeth? Amazing.
I took Thane to his 9 month checkup last week. He doesn’t actually turn 9 months old for another 6 days, so I’m splitting the difference here.
To sum up the stats, Thane is tall, medium weight and right on target.
His weight is 19lbs 12oz (50th percentile). This increases to roughly 90 pounds when he falls asleep.
His height is 29 inches (80th percentile)
His head circumference (which I’ve never figured out why I care about) is 18 inches (70th percentile)
So far so good.
Thane has totally taken off. He’s a very speedy crawler. He easily pulls up to standing on flimsier and flimsier props. He knows how to get back down from standing (this is not always obvious to children). He can climb up stairs and down steps. He is very, very strong. He is morally opposed to lying quietly while having his diaper changed and twists his body with amazing strength.
Thane is also at the “huh, wonder what this tastes like?” stage. The other afternoon, I noticed he was chewing on something in the front yard. The “something” happened to be the treated, dyed mulch I had proudly put out on my flower beds. There go those 1000 brain cells. The next morning, it was a foam dinosaur sticker he found on the floor. While we were camping, in the shallows he’d pick up fistfuls of sandy lake muck and attempt to ingest them. The thing is, we’re not lacking for vigilance! He is just faster than we are, with preternatural spidey senses for finding overlooked objects with which to freak out the grownups in his life.
Foodwise, this is becoming a blessing. A child who happily masticates beauty bark will also make a manful attempt on cucumber. The preternatural skill for gnawing on various of his brothers toys also extends to Cheerios, blueberries and little mini-bagel things. I’m on a push to have him eat up the last of his babyfoods, because unless he’s STARVING TO DEATH (which, well, is not infrequent) he’d much rather feed himself than be fed. But man, that kid is messy. I think he saves food for later by throwing it on the floor. Rubbing your eyes is a BAAAAAD idea when the meal was chili and you insist on crushing it in your tiny fist. The prophylactic 3 oz of prune juice he gets a night darken his cute dinosaur onesies like the blood of his victims. (On the very plus side, the prune juice is working! The, er, issues he was having are much improved.)
So downside: puts everything he can reach in his mouth. Upside: puts everything he is served in his mouth.
The next two milestones on the list are talking and walking — probably the biggest two. For a while I thought he might walk in a week and a half — at grandma’s house. It only seems fair since he first crawled at OTHER grandma’s house. Now I think he’s going to need to work harder on cruising and standing before he’ll get to walking. He’s certainly strong enough, but he hasn’t made enough progress on balance. I’m almost certain he’ll be walking (God help us all) before his 10 month update.
Talking he is working on. “Da da” seems to mean, “Hey, you there. Person who can do stuff for me.” Grey is greatly affronted that Thane thinks he is “Da da”. I’m working on teaching him “Ma ma” but he just replies back, more intentionally and tentatively, “Da da?”
Grey has settled on a nickname for his sibling. I have started a therapy fund for my youngest. I suppose that there are worse nicknames than “Thaney-Waney”. I just hope it doesn’t stick.
Thane is an interesting combination of unutterably patient and demanding. If you keep changing the scene, he’s incredibly patient. He’ll sit in his stroller for a long time while there are people doing interesting things or if the stroller is moving. (He spent a lot of the time we were camping in his stroller. See also: puts everything he finds in his mouth.) He misses naps and is subjected to relatively gruelling days (doing things like swimming and hiking), without a murmur. Long car rides are a cinch, compared to what they were with a similarly young Grey. But once he gets bored. Hoo boy. He lets you know that he isn’t happy and you better change something, stat.
His sleep patterns are relatively regular right now. He goes to bed between 7:30 and 8, after having eaten a dinner of solid foods and consumed his 3 oz of prune juice. He absolutely ADORES books and will sit very quietly and attentively in your lap while you read to him. He generally goes to sleep quickly and quietly on his belly in his crib. Between 10 and 11 pm he’ll wake up or we’ll wake him up for a nursing session before bed. Around 4 he wakes again to be fed. At 6:30 or so he’s up for the morning. Grey gets up at the same time every morning. My poor husband, who gets most of the morning duty, is VERY TIRED. Grey can be placated with Avatar: The Last Airbender. Thane? Not so much.
Thane is still very grabby, although it’s fading. I haven’t worn a necklace in about 3 months, after he broke two of them with his wily ways. He has a tendency to have razor sharp claws that can do serious damage to noses, and he’s not afraid to use them. “Gentle” has not been a concept he’s learned yet.
Thane is boisterously energetic. One of his favorite things to do is play “tag” with Grey, as Grey runs back and forth and Thane lumbers happily after him. Those two boys love each other. In fact, Grey will try to wake Thane up on car rides because he wants to play with Thane. (I frown on this.) Thane takes it with good grace, although he’s a heavier sleeper than Grey was. Sometimes when I go to lunch, Thane will be fast asleep in his crib in a room full of exuberant kids.
I think I have started to see glimpses of Thane’s face — the one he’ll have when the babyfat is gone and his features stand defined. I think he’ll be handsome. I think he’ll look a lot like his father, although he may have my cheeks. I’m not really ready for it. I’ve enjoyed Thane’s babyhood so much, I am not eager to progress towards boyhood at such a quick clip.
Ah well. You cannot hold back time. And it is a joy to watch my son grow in health and strength, even if wisdom seems to be a lagging indicator.