Monday, March 31, 2014
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Copper Mountain
Paul, Ben and Matt spent a boys weekend skiing at Copper Mountain, but Isaac and I drove up on Saturday to spend a little more time with the Vanbergs while they were in town. This is actually the second time we've stayed in this condo with Isaac--the first time he was nearly three months old, almost exactly two years ago:
The condo Paul found was really in a beautiful spot overlooking the resort, but still somewhat protected by Ponderosa pines from the hustle and bustle. The porch made for quite a lovely little perch to sun yourself or read or watch the comings and goings of snow bunnies.
The quick trip was fun for Isaac, for one, because he really loved having his Gramps and Uncle Matt visit. And for another, Isaac hasn't been to a ski resort this year, and he was finally able to see real skiing (and snowboarding) in action like we've read about in books this winter.
He was completely enthralled, if not somewhat dismayed, by the whole experience--the chair lifts, the skiers and snowboarders making their way down the hills, the warm treats eaten by the outdoor ball of fire. He said over and over again that he wanted to go "skating" and "ski-boarding". But the effort to get him on skis hardly seemed worth the money this trip, especially since I'm fairly certain he would have been over it within a few minutes of gearing up. Who knows though, maybe he would have surprised us. Sometimes I can't tell with this kid. One second he's apprehensive and timid and the next he startles me with his reckless abandon. Either way, it was pretty cute to see him get so excited about it all, and I'm looking forward to putting him on some skis next season.
Thanks for the great time, Gramps and Uncle Matt! We love you!
Friday, March 28, 2014
What?, Continued
Last month I talked about Isaac's new (and fun!) question-asking phase. You know:
"What?"
"What are you do-ning?"
"What's that, Mommy?"
These questions, fired at me all day, every day, without end. It's bad. Like, at the end of the day, telling your toddler to 'Go find Daddy,' (who, as it turns out, is sick, but you don't care) because all you want to do is put groceries away in silence, bad.
After some careful reflection on the matter, I realized that the problem isn't exactly the nonstop questions themselves. After all, I know his little brain is soaking up knowledge like nobody's business right now, and I want to give him the answers he doesn't yet have. No, the problem is that when he gets onto one of his rapid-fire frenzies, he already knows the answers to half of the questions. For instance, if we watch a particular movie he's seen what feels like a billion times, he asks the exact same question during the exact same part of the movie every time. "What happened to the snowman's nose, Mommy?" (Repeated three times if I don't answer the question immediately.) And it's slightly maddening.
And the other thing is the way Isaac asks his questions. On a good day, he might be satisfied with the answers I offer him. Those days he'll carry on his merry little way (for three seconds) until he has another question. I can handle that. But some days--the really tough ones--after I've answered his question, he will give me this incredulous but still somehow cute look and say, "What?" A knit brow, squinting eyes kind of disapproving puzzlement. As if I've just told him something completely idiotic. What's troubling about that look is that he learned it somewhere, and I have a feeling I've seen it before. . .
If it's not What?, then it's Why? Yes, why. It's here. And I didn't think that it could be worse than the What? phase--maybe equally as bad, but not worse--but it is. Because you know what? We're still in the What? phase and now the Why's are just piled on top of all those exhausting What's.
And don't even get me started on his recent display of independence. No. Don't ask me how many times Isaac has tried to run out into the road in the 2 seconds I turn my back to load the car. Don't ask me how many meltdowns we've had lately over mama unknowingly pulling his arms out of the seatbelt or pulling off his socks or putting a lid on his cup. And don't even think to ask how many times this toddler has retorted "NO!" to any of my polite (and not at all impatient) requests.
Don't even ask.
Run
I posted this story in another space I've created for keeping a collection of thoughts that expand beyond the bounds of this blog. Since this story is about Isaac, I thought I would also share it here.
~
"Mommy, chase me!"
Around and around he went, bare feet stamping on the hardwood floor as he scampered through the kitchen, into the living room--feet quietly padding along the carpeting--past the stairs and back down the hallway into the kitchen once more. "Get me, Mommy! Run!"
After what must have been our tenth circle, I wondered how far we'd gone; what distance would the track reveal if we were running on it instead of around this well-worn loop through our house?
Since Isaac took his first steps, he's been wearing down the circular path that he created; his own little indoor track. It began when he asked to have our hands when he was a newly-minted toddler. Confidently he led his mom and dad around the circle through our house that thereafter became his. Even then his stamina and determination caught me by surprise. He would go on interminably, until finally Ben or I would distract him with another activity. And now, sure-footed as ever, he makes mad dashes through the house, begging to be chased and squealing with delight when we oblige. So often now Ben and I are caught breathless by the chase, but he's indefatigable. Always, always he asks for more. "Run, Momma! Chase me!"
Usually at this hour we're making our way upstairs to begin our nightly routine: brushing teeth, changing into jammies, reading three stories, turning on Turtle and Froggy (and making sure that Turtle is arranged just so on the bookshelf so the moon can be seen on the ceiling), and tucking Isaac into his crib. "Bye-see ya," he'd say at last. But tonight, as I wondered about the distance we'd gone, and as my spirited boy gleefully yelled for more, I recalled a time when I was not much older than Isaac that I had my very first run outside.
I'd heard my dad tell my mother he was "running" to the grocery store, and I took it upon myself to join him on his excursion. I quickly dressed myself in a magenta sweat suit and determinedly walked down the front steps of our Victoria Court duplex and out the door. It was a typical midwest spring day, gray and chilly, vastly different from the brilliantly sunny spring days we have here in Colorado. Out the door I was immediately off running, making my way out of our cul-de-sac and down the street toward the store. Even at three I understood how to pace myself for the long run set before me, and before long I fell into the jogger's rhythm. What a curious sight I must have been: a three year old running all by herself.
My first run didn't last very long--my father stopped me before I even made it one full block. He called out my name as he hurried toward me, cutting across the backyard through the shared neighborhood garden. When I revealed my plan, he chuckled at my naivety and explained that what he said was not meant to be taken literally. So instead we walked back home together.
Swept up in a fit of nostalgia, I found Isaac's shoes and my own, and announced that we were moving our run outside. We stepped out into the failing light together and made our way down the driveway. This spring night was warm and quiet, clear skies. Isaac led the way right from the start, as he always does. He veered to the left to take the long way around our cul-de-sac--the opposite direction I'd have chosen. As a former track athlete, my mind is always unconsciously steering my body around a track, and it felt counter-intuitive to run this direction--the wrong way around.
He ran, at first, with his arms straight at his sides like you might do if you're only jogging a short, quick distance from one point to another. But soon he curled his arms up, hands balled into little fists, and took a true runner's form. He'd cast a sideways glance in my direction from time to time to make sure I was following, but mostly he looked out ahead with determination. He ignored the soft glow coming from the neighbor's windows, the black cat that slinked into the shadows of pine trees as we passed him. I jogged along behind taking it all in. His little body, small but sure, bouncing forward with quick and choppy steps. This first momentous occasion, the quiet thrill of following my son's lead. The memory of a much younger version of myself making the very same strides down the sidewalk. We made our way around the cul-de-sac together, and Isaac pushed ahead, creating a new path to follow for days to come.
~
"Mommy, chase me!"
Around and around he went, bare feet stamping on the hardwood floor as he scampered through the kitchen, into the living room--feet quietly padding along the carpeting--past the stairs and back down the hallway into the kitchen once more. "Get me, Mommy! Run!"
After what must have been our tenth circle, I wondered how far we'd gone; what distance would the track reveal if we were running on it instead of around this well-worn loop through our house?
Since Isaac took his first steps, he's been wearing down the circular path that he created; his own little indoor track. It began when he asked to have our hands when he was a newly-minted toddler. Confidently he led his mom and dad around the circle through our house that thereafter became his. Even then his stamina and determination caught me by surprise. He would go on interminably, until finally Ben or I would distract him with another activity. And now, sure-footed as ever, he makes mad dashes through the house, begging to be chased and squealing with delight when we oblige. So often now Ben and I are caught breathless by the chase, but he's indefatigable. Always, always he asks for more. "Run, Momma! Chase me!"
Usually at this hour we're making our way upstairs to begin our nightly routine: brushing teeth, changing into jammies, reading three stories, turning on Turtle and Froggy (and making sure that Turtle is arranged just so on the bookshelf so the moon can be seen on the ceiling), and tucking Isaac into his crib. "Bye-see ya," he'd say at last. But tonight, as I wondered about the distance we'd gone, and as my spirited boy gleefully yelled for more, I recalled a time when I was not much older than Isaac that I had my very first run outside.
I'd heard my dad tell my mother he was "running" to the grocery store, and I took it upon myself to join him on his excursion. I quickly dressed myself in a magenta sweat suit and determinedly walked down the front steps of our Victoria Court duplex and out the door. It was a typical midwest spring day, gray and chilly, vastly different from the brilliantly sunny spring days we have here in Colorado. Out the door I was immediately off running, making my way out of our cul-de-sac and down the street toward the store. Even at three I understood how to pace myself for the long run set before me, and before long I fell into the jogger's rhythm. What a curious sight I must have been: a three year old running all by herself.
My first run didn't last very long--my father stopped me before I even made it one full block. He called out my name as he hurried toward me, cutting across the backyard through the shared neighborhood garden. When I revealed my plan, he chuckled at my naivety and explained that what he said was not meant to be taken literally. So instead we walked back home together.
Swept up in a fit of nostalgia, I found Isaac's shoes and my own, and announced that we were moving our run outside. We stepped out into the failing light together and made our way down the driveway. This spring night was warm and quiet, clear skies. Isaac led the way right from the start, as he always does. He veered to the left to take the long way around our cul-de-sac--the opposite direction I'd have chosen. As a former track athlete, my mind is always unconsciously steering my body around a track, and it felt counter-intuitive to run this direction--the wrong way around.
He ran, at first, with his arms straight at his sides like you might do if you're only jogging a short, quick distance from one point to another. But soon he curled his arms up, hands balled into little fists, and took a true runner's form. He'd cast a sideways glance in my direction from time to time to make sure I was following, but mostly he looked out ahead with determination. He ignored the soft glow coming from the neighbor's windows, the black cat that slinked into the shadows of pine trees as we passed him. I jogged along behind taking it all in. His little body, small but sure, bouncing forward with quick and choppy steps. This first momentous occasion, the quiet thrill of following my son's lead. The memory of a much younger version of myself making the very same strides down the sidewalk. We made our way around the cul-de-sac together, and Isaac pushed ahead, creating a new path to follow for days to come.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Isaac, Outside
Today, while I pruned the rose bushes and cleared last season's earthy remnants from the yard, Isaac explored. First, he helped me compost leaves and mulch, but soon he wandered off by himself. I found him a while later petting the pansies just in front of the house saying, "Hello, little flowder." I couldn't help but stop what I was doing to find the camera and capture the moment in some small way.
What a gentle and sensitive nature-loving boy I have. It was easy to forget, over the winter months, how much Isaac loves to be outside, and how it is the only place where he is content being completely alone. But today, out here, it all came rushing back to me: The memories of him in the raspberry bushes, of him climbing through the tall grasses beside the trails. Memories of him hiding himself away in the low trees of our backyard and in the park, all alone. Already he displays such a love and appreciation for the natural world.
And my heart? Bursting with joy and pride.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Family
I captured this photo while lying beneath the bare branches of elm trees at the park, sunning myself, and staring up at that impossibly blue sky. Ben and Isaac whizzed past me from one side of the park to the other in their play. How wonderful to rest on that small slant of a hill next to the playground feeling the warm sun on my face, not a care in the world. What a perfect memory.
When the boys were spent, we walked home together, taking the long way. It was our time, family time. Time for just being. Time for feeling centered and whole, together. These moments are ours and ours alone. And stitched together--the moments captured in these photos and even more left to memory--they are what make up our days and our lives. And there is absolutely nothing more I could ask for than a lifetime of memories with these two.
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