Not much longer now, until this little man turns 2, and I struggle to realise, yet again, where the time is flying and what is all the hurry about.  It is a big fat cliche with a cherry on top, but come on, the more life seems to be worth living, the faster it goes. When school was occupying my days and I couldnt wait to hear the last bell to run out; or the mirage of adult freedom was the only thing making life bearable; time stood still. The clock on the wall would tick.…tick…yawn…tock, and days seemed to never end.

Now he is going to be 2.

And I just heard his first whimpers after he was born. I can still smell the sweetness of that wet head of his, resting on my chest, and the softness of his mini balls, as I slid my hand down his body to check that he is indeed, a boy.  That last point is under review, because even though he does have the proper appendages, this ruled by females house has had a measurable effect on him.

Now he is a little person running around the house and working. He loves working. You have not laughed enough until you see a nakid toddler emptying the recycling box in the bin and then carrying that same, as  big as him, box up the stairs, through the house and pushing it into the lower level in the side pantry and closing the door, matter of factly.

More! — he will exclaim.

Laundry, tossing the wet clothes into the drier, is a favorite too. Even though he rarely makes the target, he makes it up with enthusiasm and concentration.

More!

Filling the water bottles and carrying them back to the fridge may be boring to some, but not to him. Its a serious business and he frequently reminds Mr.Blab of the job with fingers pointed to the empty bottles.

More!

I dont think I can love him more.

I dont think we can love him more.

Miss Fab recently said: He is the best thing that has happened to me! And you know what, that is sweeter than sweet,  because no matter how you feel about your kids, when they love each other like that, we are talking instant cavity inducing sweet…in a good way. The girls laugh all day, be it scraping poop off his diapers (yes, they made a deal with the devil again) or riding bikes outside. We often giggle ourselves just listening to them secretly and giving each other looks that mean no-idea-what-they-are-on-about-but-isnt-it-good!

By they way, I had to trap the boy to get some pictures of his face. See, he gives no value to my camera and pays me no attention when I am holding it. Forget about big eyes staring down the barrel of the lens, I am happy to get a nose in there somewhere. Then I had this genius idea of putting him to sit on my computer chair, and it worked. At least for a bit. Not that he found it very interesting, but I cant win them all.

Mr.Blab: Daddy going to put you to sleep?

Dod: No

Mr.Blab: Who is going to put you to sleep?

Dod: Mama

That is the first conversation he has held, when we exclude all the huming and haming and gesticulating. It happened yesterday. The words are coming now faster and faster and just as fast is my little boy changing. I will miss this, oh, how I will miss it. The worst part is that I know I will forget, not everything, but the tactile details, the softness of his little bum in my hands, the goofy smile and wet lips on my nose, the warmth of his belly on my face as I rub it on to make him laugh, the smell of his mouth… I will know this all happened, but I will not be able to feel it. I know, because I look longingly at old videos of the girls and with all the memories that flood back, there is a touch of sadness within me for the essence of our lives together that I have forgotten.

This is life though, we can not hoard and store it, we can only live it — now.

And right now, I am just soaking up the juicy goodness around me, a bunch of it coming from this little big boy.

Related posts:

1. What made my day yesterday
2. Infrequently asked questions cont.
3. 9 + 10 months together
4. My son

We love taking walks in the neighbourhood. Sometimes we go for quick lunch at a favorite cafe, others we enjoy a drink of some kind and then there are the more practical walks that take us to the library or the local shops.

If we decide to go grab a drink, we would pick some cat tails on the way from our special area and swing them around until they brake. The Dod gets his own handed to him, riding on my back, and then he is expected to try to tickle the bouncing girls around me.

I love this wall.
The color, the texture, all of it.

Little B skips ahead often, as she is my non-stop child; my perpetuo mobile; the child that climbs just about any vertical object she faces; and yet, all this activity and training has not made her less likely to be a party of injury events around here. Quite the opposite, she can get a scrape just by breathing, I am sure of it. But, as I have always said, you are not a child unless you have bruised legs and a band-aid somewhere on your body. She is definitely a child.

She skips, and skips, and skips until the street, which we cross together and then she is off again, unless she finds something interesting and then she is behind calling for us to wait.

Miss Fab, my dogologist child (I dont think I have made you privy to her new obsession with dogs), is usually closer, exploring and chatting and melting with love for her brother. We usually have to guess how many dogs we will see on our outing and we know we will see at least two; for we have the chao-chao we love to stop by and say hi to.

He is quiet and we could have missed him, had he not stuck his black nose under the fence that one time, back when, before he was our dog. It even took our resident professional dogologist a bit of time to figure out the breed, there is so little of him showing.

Last time he made these sad noises, behind the beautiful white fence, and we decided that he is lonely all day, while the owners work. We bought his story until a noisy little fella jumped about around him, as though to prove his existence or worth as a friend, for they are two, behind the fence. Nosy and Noisy. Our dogs.

Spring does make our walks more colorful and there is so much to see and touch and pick.

Flowers are dissected and examined, and paper bark trees are relieved of a bit of their coats in the name of exploration too. We love seed pods, cause there seem to be an unlimited variety of ways plants have figured out to spread their genes into the world — seeds with wings, spiky seeds, millions tiny ones, pods, singing choir looking pods et cetera, et cetera.

No matter how many times we do our walk, it never gets boring and we always find something new and interesting.

Still, its nice when we arrive at our current favorite watering place. Its even better if our preferred inside sitting spot is free — it has enough chairs, the chairs are puffy and comfortable and there is enough table in front to cause trouble and spill stuff.

And as much as I want to tell you we leisurely enjoy our warm drinks, barely upright in the big puffy chairs and feet sprawled on the table in front, I cant. Because this one may look mellow and all classy, well-mannered young gentleman in his cardigan, but its all a lie.

At first the apple juice may sit there, amongst the pencils, undisturbed.

Miss Fab may be able to play some word games, while letting her yo-yo rest and waiting for the cinos.

Which come wonderfully frothy with sprinkling of brown chocolate goodness.

My drink of choice is a long black.

No sugar, no milk.

For those of you that wonder what in the world that is, its like a long espresso; watery strong espresso.

I love to drink it while catching up on the newspapers.

But this one unleashes, shakes off the drowsy feeling he may have developed riding on my back and sets off.

He wants everything; to try it all, himself. So armed with my unused teaspoon he walks around and dips it in everything, drips stuff all over that big ole table, mixes things that should not be mixed.

Miss Fab attempts to restrain him, gently, by offering her babycino as a sacrifice to the common good. And this works for about half a second, and then he is off again.

This day was a bit extra crazy, as he was sleepy too, so life just had to bend over for him or else he was going to make it. We, ourselves armed with napkins, kept wiping behind him, but the end of the road for him was when he started pouring to and fro various cups and spilled a lake on that table, which didnt look as nice anymore. That marked the end of his freedom and he was swiftly strapped to my back, tightly, where he spent the rest of the time — blinking and resting his tired head on my shoulders.

We did manage to catch up on the news and election developments and that coffee made its way to the depths of my being.

On the way back we take a different route, just to be wild, or at least not to repeat ourselves. And here I will present to you our jumping game. Yours truly came up with it one day, when we were Dod-free, and you may be tempted to just call it long jumping, its not, so dont utter it.

Its our extra-special-fun-bike-lane-wild-game.

See — wild!

Its risky too, cause you never know when the extreme bikers may wizz by and put your life in danger.

Starting position:

Trembling knees, mental preparation, deep breathing…

Whooosh!

Every jumper is marked and we try to beat each other. I am way out of the kiddies league. I fly, baby! Fly like the wind; jump straight back home. Not surprisingly, Little B manages to outjump Miss Fab from time to time. And Mr.Blab? Last time he joined us on a walk, he used the excuse that he is sick and never embarrassed himself with an actual result. But I am pretty sure we all know where he will fit, I just wonder if he will make it past the white line…

Then the girls decided to be archeologists.

And dug the sides of the path.

So we can come back home with a pile of rocks.

A pile of rocks that is still in front of the back door and we trip on them to this day.

Related posts:

1. My son
2. Kids vs City — Bear Grylls style
3. Good things around the corner
4. What if after you wake up, you are put on a potty and
5. The other room

With titles like that its no wonder I am not getting any traffic thanks to SEO (search engine optimization).

Its the truth though, I will attempt just about anything. You wont find me hiding in a corner, biting my fingers about how I will be terrible at something. I may very well be terrible at it, but I will at least give it a go and find out for myself. Call me a skeptic, thats me.

So awhile ago when Mr.Blab jokingly asked me to cut his hair, cause he was too lazy to go to the hairdresser, I said „Sure, dude, have a seat and hand me those meat scissors over there”.  I said it jokingly too, but he turned out to be even crazier than me, because he handed his mane to my completely lost for words hands and the rest is history.

I have had my hair cut, I have watched other people do it, many times; I knew the proper technique to hold the hair, and who doesnt know how to use scissors?! It cant be that hard. And the truth is that even after I was done with him, he was safe for public viewing and didnt miss a day off work, to both of our surprise.

I still have no clear idea what I am doing when I grab the scissors, which now are proper hair-cutting ones and I even have thinning blades to complete my professional tool set.

Yours truly is now the official family hairdresser, which not only makes  my man unappealing to other females, but also saves us not a negligible amount of money. (The kids get good doos, because of the blood connection)

My problem is that after every time I cut Mr.Blab’s hair, I forget how hard it is and next time he asks me, which is usually right before he looks like Big Foot, I agree to do it. And as soon as I stand there with my comb and scissors and try to moisten that mountain of hair, I feel half of my life run past me. The dread overcomes me, because ladies and gentlemen, he has way too much hair; I am certain, in fact, that he is the reason so many other men are bаld around the world.

I snap with the scissors and nothing seems to change. I have no idea what I am doing is what comes out of my mouth every once in a while with a nervous laugh. Its ok, as long as I have some hair — calmly responds my client and we usually laugh a lot. He pretends to be scared sometimes and is not appreciative of my assistant/s, which might be spraying him with a bottle or piling his cut hair on his pants, for example — what is this place?!

Oh, no worry, mistur, its all in bill…oups, that your ear?

By the end of it, my hands are falling off, and I am sure I patch up the last bits barely, barely. But he is always happy, bless his lazy heart.

Dodman, approved my work too.

And that is all that matters sometimes.

And then he is put to work.

I wonder who can make a blanket from all of that cut hair.

Or two.

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The form of a limericks goes like that according to Wikipedia:

The standard form of a limerick is a stanza of five lines, with the first, second and fifth usually rhyming with one another and having three feet of three syllables each; and the shorter third and fourth lines also rhyming with each other, but having only two feet of three syllables.

The limericks were popularised by Edward Lear and his wonderfully named book:

I love the character armed with nonsense; it lovingly reminds me of myself sometimes.

Today on the way to writing class we had some fun and made a bunch of poems, poems in motion, literally. And here for your hopeful  enjoyment are a few of them.

1
I love my little old bed
its soft, cosy and red
its small and dashing
almost too flashing
I cant believe they covered it in lead!

2
I have a very old cat
It needs a much bigger mat
For she is so lazy
my cat called Maisey
and so extraordinarily fat.

3
I wanted to make a cake
but I didnt know how to bake
Out fell the flour
I made it a tower
and the milk made a perfect lake.

4
Once I went to the mall
and I saw this one guy fall.
A man called Ted
came up and said:
„Why do they make malls so tall?”

5
Oups! I was eaten by a bear
Why me? This is not fair!
Its warm and cozy
But not so rosy
I am never doing  another dare!

6
Once I tried to climb the  wall
but instead I took a big, big fall.
My knee is bruised,
my jaw is fused,
please, give emergency a call.

We have our favorites, but I will be curious if you have one too?

Comments in limericks get extra points. The points you can spend at that thingy over there, behind the blue stuff…a bit further…there, somewhere…oh, forget it!

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