But Raechel said I needed to post some photos of my big huge human children who are actually, you know, looking and talking and thinking like REAL PEOPLE, and she's right, we're overdue. So that's this post. Pictures I found that I my father-in-law took at our home a couple weeks ago. Of my kids. Plus braggy snippet updates on their doings. Welcome to my blog, I can do whatever I want!
First, Mr. Raisin, who is a raisin no more but something more along the lines of a puffy marshmallow man. (That's how his brother described his arms recently: "puffy.") He looks uncannily like his older brothers did at this age. He is 20 months old, nearly 21, talking and climbing and developing a vibrant and awesome personality every second of every day. He is also incredibly spoiled by all of us. He is never out of our arms if he can help it. His hair and his eyes slay everyone he meets, and he earns double slaying points on a humid day when his curls really stand at attention.
|Crusty nose happens. No biggie.|
He's just so great. I am stunting his growth all the time so he never gets big and stops saying "wa-wa" when he wants a drink.
Queen Anne/King Peter the Boy easily possesses the most personality I have ever witnessed in a person. She stumps me like 32,059 times a day, either with her behavior, her questions, or her imagination. She has a really great natural talent for drawing (unicorns, natch), and she sees everything through a filter of rainbows. She is feminine without needing lots of pink, princesses, or frills--just horses and unicorns, which suits me just fine. She has her own army of admirers, fondly referred to as The Unicorn Brigade, and she scares me daily because she just does not know the meaning of "stranger." All strangers are simply friends she hasn't met. My favorite example is when we walked into the YMCA lobby and she hollered at the random lady walking past, "I really like the lipgloss you have on your lips!" Potentially creepy, but mainly hilarious. You should have seen the lady's expression.
She has these smokey green eyes that change to gray or blue depending on the light. I can't even with her.
The twins are so alike in personality it's scary, but I realize it would be unfair to simply lump them into the same category, as they are of course different people. (You'd be surprised how often others forget this.) I'll start with J, my warrior. He is, in a lot of ways, very quintessentially boy. He is still maturing and learning how to NOT burst into tears when things don't go his way, but the tears dry quickly and then he's off fighting with Transformers and rolling in the mud and creating elaborate imaginative lands filled with talking dolphins (his favorite animal) and black knights. He is my wiggly, jiggly boy who needs lots of physical activity to get through a day. He also needs lots and lots of books, all nonfiction books on dinosaurs and robots from the big kid section of the library. I am amazed at his reading skills and the information he can hold in his awesome, busy mind. Yet with all this loud gogogo wigglewigglemove on and about his person, he can display such tenderness and thoughtfulness toward his siblings. I am so honored to have a part in his growing up. He is so fun to watch.
These are the best photos of him ever. This is pretty much J all the time.
He and his twin brother are more than just best friends and even more than just brothers. It's almost as if they are each other's shadows or something poetic like that. Like limbs that work together and can't function alone. Does that even begin to convey the depth of their relationship? Sure, they fight and gripe and groan like all brothers, but 95% of the time they are working in harmonious synchronization, whether they are reading quietly, playing, or tormenting their poor sister, who understandably feels a little left out. On their kindergarten teacher's suggestion, they are going to be in the same class again next year, because they just can't function apart for that long. Who knows, they may end up together all through school. We lucked out with those kind of twins. I, as a loud and proud extrovert, lucked out with these two people- and activity-wary introverts; they are teaching me so much about how people of all types process the world. I am learning not to drag my kids so many places, no matter how much KPtB and I crave the activity.
And my sweet, sensitive, bat-obsessed B. This kid has such a heart for other people and animals, and I am so proud every time he questions injustice. Even in the comfort of our jumbly home, he is easily the quietest kid, and I can almost HEAR him processing everything, absolutely everything, that he encounters each day. He has done a lot of growing up this past year, and I knew we were going places when he easily began playing with a little boy on the playground last week and asked, "So what's your name?" That's a kid right there. A big kid who makes friends and just likes to play. He can make the most elaborate Lego creations, ships and guns that just absolutely floor me, and he is just crazy for facts about animals and the natural world. A few days he and I had a very serious talk about dreaming after he lamented not having good dreams even though he "thinks about great things all day" just for the express purpose of experiencing them in dream form at night. I suggested he start a dream journal, and he immediately procured a notebook and logged his first dream. It's sitting next to his sleeping form right this minute. What an awesome kid.
WAIT WAIT, you thought I was done? Honey. If having a fourth child a few years after the first three arrived back-to-back-to-back has taught me anything, it has taught me this: Giving the baby a wee bit more of the spotlight is okay and right and just.
Plus that hair flip just adds more and more to the slaying points.
I know you were about to ask, and the answer is yes, he does get kissed a lot. By everyone, including his big brothers, whom he adores.
So that's my brood. They're loud and messy, and they fight and drive me up a wall many times a day, but I've put too much work into them to give up on them. Also I love them with the white hot passion of a thousand dying suns, which helps considerably.
(In case you were wondering about H's teething necklace, I still think it's hoodoo voodoo. But we keep it on because teething for him means ALL THE DRAMA, and I will do anything to avoid drama, including voodoo.)