Brother

His name is "Brother", or "Brudder", as Kendan pronounces it. Ok, his name is legally Damien, but it might as well be Brother with as little as we say "Damien". Is it possible that we are raising him with an inferiority complex by calling him that; always being the "brother" and not "Damien"? I'm not sure. But, I am sure that, at 9 months old, he is not just Kendan's brother. Every ounce of his baby fat is genuine personality, his own personality. I think he stores most of it in his cheeks. Or maybe his fingers; I've never seen chubbier baby hands. Well, wherever it comes from, he has it in spades. We haven't even had him in our lives a full year but I already cannot remember what it felt like without him. This laughing baby. This hilarious boy. This amazing, albeit needy, addition to the family. This brother. Our "Brother".

We've learned so much about him already. He has full intentions of doing everything at his own pace. I was always told that subsequent children do things faster than their older siblings did in an effort to keep up. Well, so far, that is not the case for Damien in any major milestone of his infancy. He rolled over later (which he has since forgotten how to do), he sat up later, he is almost 10 months old and shows no interest in crawling and doesn't have any teeth. By this age Kendan had finally figured out crawling and was working on his third and fourth teeth. Not only does Damien not attempt to keep up with his big brother, but he doesn't seem to care what Kendan is up to at all! Only on occasion will Damien take notice of Kendan's activities and even then he only laughs, picks up the nearest toy, and devotes his full attention to it, forgetting about everything else. The feeling is mutual; Kendan isn't all that interested in what Damien's doing either unless it's something involving one of his toys. Then he is quick to make sure Damien knows what's "mine!" and what's suitable for the brother. I have asked Kendan to go play with Damien when he's in the jump-a-roo in an attempt to forge more of a relationship; but, Damien will not have it. He screams at Kendan for helping bounce him, or touching one of the rattle attachments, or for even coming near him. I guess "mine!" goes both ways. However, occasionally I will have my head buried in (insert cliche mom task here) and I'll hear laughter... contagious, infectious, toddler and baby laughs, both! I'll peek around the corner and there they are, playing together. Unforced, extreme silliness and non-stop giggles. Being brothers.

Damien loves carbs. I mean, who doesn't? But, he really loves carbs. His current favorite foods are Pillsbury crescent rolls, frozen waffles, and Cheerios. Kendan was a fruits and veggies kind of baby. I thought the angels sent me a perfect child who loved healthy foods. Now I think, thank God I can slap a handful of Cheerios onto Damien's tray to keep him from losing his mind while I make the peas he'll reluctantly eat once his favorites run out. Solid foods came at the exact right time for Damien. He went through a pretty severe phase of refusing bottles. I wasn't sure how he was surviving without what is supposed to be an infant's main source of nutrition through one year. Kendan never missed an ounce. He pounded every bottle that came his way and still ate like a champ. So, imagine my confusion when I had to beg my next baby to swallow a drop. The Bottle Battles of 2012 have ended and Damien is back to consuming a more comfortable level (for mom) of formula a day; but, not without compromise. For instance, if he wants to stop eating his bottle to jump in my lap, give me kisses, or forcibly rub his head against mine for ten minutes I must allow it; he will eat the rest of his bottle when he's done... but not one minute before he has finished doing what he wants. Don't even try, he will slap the bottle right out of your hand. I also figured out that he likes to lay in odd positions while eating his bottle. All that wiggling and sliding down my lap was not just to be a pain, he prefers laying that way. *Extreme eye roll* Oh, Brother.

I mean, seriously... 

Damien hates when I leave the room. He screams at the top of his lungs as if he's been abandoned completely. No surprise here, Kendan was the exact same way. I cannot explain it. With Kendan I just assumed it was because we spent every waking minute together and rarely saw anyone else other than Dad for the first year of his life. Damien is different. He is child number two. He has been dragged to every playgroup, been held by every person he's met, been babysat more than Kendan ever was at this age. He gets left in random rooms of the house while I'm chasing after Kendan to the potty. He lives in his walker and highchair. But, he still goes insane when I leave him. I'll never forget leaving the boys in the playroom one day when the doorbell rang. The whole time I was talking to the solicitor Damien was screaming his head off. *Get a hint, salesman* I finally return to my children only to find Damien (still) screaming on the floor, now surrounded by upwards of ten toys that Kendan has piled around him in an effort to make him happy. Kendan just stood there, sucking his thumb, giving me a desperate look, "make him stop, please!" I know, buddy, I know. For Kendan, freaking out when I'd leave the room ended once he learned to crawl and could just follow me. I'm hoping it will fix itself for Damien once he finally becomes mobile. But, not only does he not crawl (as previously discussed), he doesn't even try. In the meantime, I will continue to run around my house in a cold sweat, pleading with Kendan to just hurry up and go potty so I can go calm down brother.

Seen here playing with a wooden spoon.  But, he's really only happy because I'm still in the room.

Damien loves sleep. He cannot be disturbed for twelve hours every night and has to be woken up after two hours of napping, twice a day. When I lay him down in his crib he is genuinely excited. He kicks and laughs and squeals. He rubs his blankie all over his sweet face and his smile fills the room. He doesn't make a peep at bed or nap times. He just happily drifts off to sleep. I would have to listen to Kendan cry for about ten minutes before he would pass out, exhausted from fighting it. Damien just lets sleep wash over him. Maybe it's the calming tide from the noise machine. Or maybe he is just more like his father in the sleep department (and nothing like Mom as I fight sleep to write this). Maybe being the younger sibling pays off when you learn to sleep while listening to the high-pitched talking and loud banging from your big brother.

Kendan and Damien have a lot of similarities as babies. Chipmunk-sized cheeks, they break down into hysterical laughter when they're tired, and they are seriously, heartbreakingly adorable (I might have a biased opinion). However, they have far more differences than I ever expected. Damien is starting to burst out of the 9 month clothing that Kendan wore through 11 months. Damien's eyes are still a shade of blue that is reserved only for actors from the 30's; Kendan's had turned deep brown by this age. Kendan preferred "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and his sucking his thumb while Damien is a "Wheels on the Bus" fan and loves the pacifier. And, just to ensure his own place in our family, Damien's hair is just slightly red. The only one with red(ish) hair. Well played, Damien. But, the biggest difference between Kendan and Damien is time. The time I have to spend alone with Damien pales in comparison to the one-on-one time I had with Kendan. The only private time we have together is during bottles. Damien is the first person I care for every morning. He quietly chats to himself in his crib while I make my way upstairs. I peek over the side of his crib and his face lights up, so does mine. We sit together in the glider and rock as he eats his bottle. He grabs my fingers, tilts his head back, flashes me a smile. I stand him up on my lap when he's done just to have a look at him. How much did you grow last night my sweet boy? What will I miss today as I rush around doing a million other things? I pray nothing. I so look forward to our time together before bed too. He smells so clean, straight out of a baby shampoo commercial. He sits on my lap and I close my eyes to memorize the scent. He takes a break from his bottle and flips around in my lap to see me. It's the only time of day he lets me cradle him like a baby. I put my face right up to his and gush about how much I love him. He just laughs. I put him in his crib and cover him up. I silently promise never to take for granted the privilege of being the last face he sees every night. Before I back away, I whisper, "Sleep good, my Brother".

Imagination

Kendan completely amazes me these days. I still remember when I would beg him to play by himself so I could get something, anything, done. Don't get me wrong, he still insists that I join him in any and all activities, but he has gotten astronomically better at entertaining himself. One word: Imagination.

Every character he portrays (Batman, Spiderman, Mike the Knight, Jake from the Neverland Pirates, etc.) has very strict requirements regarding wardrobe. We do own quite a few dress-up items (Batman mask, pirate hat and vest, etc.). Then, of course, some things we have serve other purposes. His bike helmet doubles as his Knight helmet, his winter mittens are his Batman gloves, snow boots are his boots for every outfit, an old butter spreader is his sword, his bath towel is his cape; the list goes on. However, we don't actually own most of the wardrobe pieces that are being "worn" during play. Everything else is IMAGINARY. When dressed as Spiderman he wears an imaginary mask, gloves, and boots. He is so convinced that he is wearing them that he takes them off with every bite of food, before going potty, and before getting in the bath. I also have to hold them for him, "Here Mommy, hold these" as he takes off each article separately. I must wear the imaginary clothing as well. "Mommy needs boots too!" I need only reply, "They're already on, silly!" and show him my foot; we continue playing, or I keep cooking. When leaving for the store one day he exclaimed, "Oh! My mask!" I held out my hand and said, "Oh, here it is!" He bellowed with laughter and we kept on our merry way .... See? This imagination is amazing.

In keeping with my son's first-born, Type A personality, even his imagination is very specific. When we are playing as characters everyone is assigned an identity. Kendan is always the main hero, I am typically the sidekick, and Damien gets whatever tertiary character remains. I suggest we get brother up from nap and I am quickly corrected, "No, Izzy, we get Cubby from nap!" ... "Ok, Jake, you're right. Let's go." He is so particular that he specifies the difference between Batman and Bruce Wayne with just the lift of his mask. If his mask is on top of his head he is Bruce Wayne; if it's over his face he is Batman (obviously). This is easy enough to decipher. The difficultly comes when he is Spiderman. The only Spiderman paraphernalia we own is a Pez dispenser! So when he is Spiderman he looks exactly like Kendan; I only know he's the masked hero because I get scolded when I refer to him incorrectly. But, when he's Peter Parker he walks around with both of his hands held up at the sides of his face as if he's pulled his mask up. Voilà, he is the unassuming NYC photographer, Peter Parker.

We went to the aquarium yesterday, and when Kendan woke up from nap today he put out his hand and explained he was holding a shark. He began moving his hands back and forth over his bed and speaking over a pretend radio to this shark ... This game was completely lost on me. But, instead of trying to understand I just stood there in silence, trying to breathe in every second of my child's joy. His overwhelming imagination. His lack of self awareness as I stare at him puzzled. One day he will be too embarrassed to pretend. To make up a game with his mom watching and invite her to play along. Too self conscious to march around the house wearing only a belt, hat, vest, and wielding a butter knife. I didn't dare interrupt. Not only because I was off the hook for a few minutes as head of the entertainment committee, but because it was a front row seat to Kendan's mind. It was funny, and detailed, and sweet. And entirely too short-lived; both that moment and his childhood in general. Before I know it he'll be big and his favorite Disney shows will be "for babies". I'll hand him an imaginary mask to fight crime in and he'll roll his eyes. In the mean time, I will keep soaking up these moments, even when I'm up to my ears in things to do. I'll pull out two chairs and two hot pads so we can drive the Batmobile in between stirring dinner. I'll look forward to Damien reaching this blossoming imagination stage. And I will always close my eyes and keep my boys little in MY imagination.

Home

We just got back to Kansas City after a two week visit in Chicago. A couple friends' weddings and events required we stick around up North for an extended stay. It was such a great trip, staying with family, seeing friends, and celebrating some amazing couples. But, after two weeks, there wasn't anything I wanted more than to go home. "Home", that is.... in quotations. See, our getaway to Chicago just so happened to take up two of the three weeks we had left in Kansas City before we move to Dallas. There wasn't any place I would rather be than standing next to one of my best friends on her wedding day last weekend; there was no question as to whether or not we would be there. However, the timing was hard for our family in the midst of having to come to terms with a big move.

There is something empty in the longing you feel to hurry up and get home when you know it will only be "home" for a few more days. Driving up your street while your toddler excitedly yells, "we're here!", knowing he will soon not recognize his daily surroundings. Unpacking your bags when you'll just be packing everything in boxes in a few short days. Your children finally getting a full night's sleep in their own beds, in their own rooms, knowing their rooms will be 500 miles away starting next week. Buying only bananas on your weekly Monday grocery trip with the intention of finishing up everything in your pantry before you move. And, mostly, cramming in visits with friends as much as possible because you DID miss them desperately and WILL miss them desperately. Both.

My child did not forget his friends or his home in the two weeks we were gone. He asked for his friends, one in particular, almost every day. Some days non-stop. He also asked to go to "Mommy's house" several times, which is what he calls our home in Kansas City. I believe these instances were not as heartbreaking as they could have been. I think the fact that he was distracted by grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, etc. kept him from asking to go home as often as possible. But, when it was just us in the car, or when he'd wake up refreshed from a nap, he reminded me that he had not forgotten home. It was also easier to bear his requests for his friend and home because I knew the situation was temporary; we'd be going "home" shortly. What frightens me is, I now know, it'll take MORE than two weeks for Kendan to "forget". I don't actually want him to forget. As I've previously posted on this blog, the last two years of memories are some I want him to keep forever. But, it will take more than two weeks for him to accept the new home as "home". Accept that we will not see our friends every day. Accept that when we get in the car to go for a ride it won't be to "Mommy's house". And, this time, when he asks to go home I will tell him, "we are home".

Maybe two weeks away was a good thing. Maybe an initial separation will help ease our family into a new home. We came back to this house knowing full-well that it is only temporary. Maybe it won't be as hard to leave again if it doesn't quite feel like "home" anymore. I can celebrate the fact that I will not have to rake the leaves that have begun to fall. And the bills that come in the mail here will be some of the last for this house (always nice to stop paying a bill). But, if our being away for two weeks will help to make the moving process any less emotional it hasn't been proven yet. I look around our quaint home, imagine it empty, and a lump goes to my throat.

I have to keep in mind that I felt this same way when we left Indiana. I loved that home. Kendan's first nursery that we worked so hard on was there. We made really wonderful friends there too. Everything we did to the house and the memories we made there helped make it our home. When we had to say goodbye I was very sad and was not sure how living in Kansas City would pan out. Look at me now, devastated to leave another home. I believe this makes me a very lucky person in life. Traveling, moving, making friends all over the country. Having had such wonderful experiences that it is truly heartbreaking for them to end. I am lucky in this life. Blessed, even.

The last few days in our "home" will be highly emotional. Then stressful as the actual move is upon us. Then even more stressful when we are 500 miles away and I cannot find the coffee filters among the hundreds of boxes so Mommy can just have a cup of caffeine! But, before we know it, memories will start being made in our new home; without even trying. If we're really lucky, all the people we love will get to come visit us. And with as much as my three boys fill me up every day, it will be easy to make our Dallas house our "home".

Awake

It's 2:51 in the morning. I should be sleeping. Not only because, believe it or not, moms need sleep too. But, because I can hear my sick toddler fussing and moving over the monitor, threatening to wake up and officially rob me of the rest of a good night's sleep. It's its own breed of desperation when you lose sleep over the thought of losing sleep. *sigh* And the fact that it is going to be a long day with him not feeling well anyway doesn't help me fall asleep any faster. What woke me up? Allergies had a part in it; waking up to your tongue attempting to scratch the back of your throat is never pleasant. Also having to use the bathroom like I do in the middle of the night, every night, woke me up. I never did regain bladder capacity after pregnancy; so not fair. More importantly, what is keeping me up, besides the intense growling my stomach is doing (why am I ALWAYS hungry?)?

It starts with checking the time when I don't immediately fall back to sleep. It's now 3:00am. If I fall asleep now I will get to sleep for four more hours. Then it turns into a mental checklist of what I have to accomplish the next day. The list includes the usual suspects: do laundry, workout, pay bills, etc. Tomorrow I have to pack to go to Chicago for two weeks and that provides its own list of things I must get done in the next 24 hours. Nothing all that thrilling, so why am I awake? My stomach growls again. Should I just go eat some cereal to shut it up? No, surely I'll slip off into slumber soon enough. Right? I blow my nose for the thousandth time; I hate allergies.

3:05. My eyes don't even feel tired. My husband is breathing heavily. *jealous* I can hear Damien's sound machine whooshing the beach tide back and forth. Kendan's humidifier is gurgling over the monitor. Even with my family snug as bugs and all the noises of a sleeping household to comfort me, I cannot sleep. Kendan fusses again, adjusts his laying position, poor kid. I just want to pick him up and rock him! But, I won't because I know he really needs his sleep.

It's now 3:15am and my thoughts have graduated from to do lists and a bowl of Apple Jacks to our impending move and the ice cream in the freezer (ugh, stop it!). Unpacking boxes in our new house and the overwhelming stress it'll surely bring. Leaving this house behind, all the work we did to it and memories we made in it. I hope the new owners equally appreciate the remodeled bath, redone hardwoods, and every nail hole that held a family picture. I think about leaving our friends here. Especially Kendan leaving his best friend across the street, a thought that is never far from my mind these days. I think about the amazing Fall weather and changing leaves that have begun to show in Kansas City and how moving to Dallas will probably feel like moving back into Summer. *cringe* Will I have a chance to decorate for Halloween in the new house; will I even be able to FIND my decorations? I think about it all. Not with enough energy to force me out of bed to begin tackling things that need to be done (I've attempted that before, I changed a load of laundry and immediately returned to bed). And I don't think about these things with enough detail to write a full blog on any one subject either. I apologize to you, the reader, I should have warned you this post has no point. I think about everything just enough to keep me awake.

It's 3:53am. I've been awake, in the middle of the night, for over an hour now fighting an allergy attack and contemplating way too many things. The joke of it is, Kendan hasn't actually woken up once; but, I bet he will as soon as I finally pass out! I've accomplished nothing but I have ensured tomorrow will be difficult because I'll be exhausted. I should have just eaten that bowl of cereal; I'd probably be asleep by now.

.....and now Kendan is awake.

Hobby

My sister-in-law recently got very interested in photography. One day she was taking pictures with a point and shoot camera and the next day she was one of the most talented photographers I've ever met. I know it didn't really happen like that. I, first, attributed her new found interest to her wedding being over. No longer completely inundated with wedding details she found herself married and in need of something, a hobby, to fill the time that was once dedicated to all things white and wedding-y. Inspired by her own wedding photographer (who wouldn't be? The man is a genius), she picked up a camera. She took a class. She read books. She developed a real hobby. And she was good, no great, at it. It wasn't until later that I found out she had a clear plan for making it a profession for herself (what luck in life, to be able to do what you love as a job).

What she doesn't know is the effect all of this had on me. At first, it only raised a simple question: do I have a hobby? What do I do regularly in my leisure time for pleasure? I do a lot of things regularly. Is washing bottles a hobby? I love when my house is clean; does that qualify as pleasure? Cleaning cannot be my hobby! *Sad* Not to mention I hate the act of cleaning and only admitted to liking when the house is already clean. Laundry? Is that a hobby? Ok, honestly, the only consistent thing I do, in my leisure time, for pleasure, is eat and watch television. *Seething embarrassment* It's true, folks. Are eating and watching TV considered hobbies? I've always considered them to be addictions, the dark relative of the hobby. But, I am very good at those particular activities. And they don't have to go together either. When asked what I want to do when company is in town, or for a date night, I immediately rattle off restaurant names like an auctioneer (who is speaking my language!). As if eating is the only activity I can even think of to do. Craig has actually said to me before "Ok, that'll take care of lunch but what do you want to DO today?" My only reply to him being a confused look. No, eating and television CANNOT be my (only) hobbies.

I walk a lot! Ok, maybe we're onto something. But, I mostly do it as a low impact form of exercise and a way to kill some time with two kids who hate being inside all day (we've already established that I'd prefer to sit on my butt with a bag of chips). I wouldn't say I love to walk. Some days I have to force myself to walk so I don't hate myself later (when I'm watching TV and eating). But, I don't dislike it either... unless it's hot, or cold, or humid, or raining, or I'm tired, or it's hilly, or... ok.... maybe walking isn't my hobby.

Why won't these kids just push ME in the stroller?

I like to read. Let's be honest though, I've barely read a whole book since I had children (soul crushers). When my full day of catering to two kids, a husband, and a household ends I make my way up to bed, pick up my iPhone, frantically scroll through endless social media apps and blog sites, and before I know it 30 minutes have passed and I can't keep my eyes open. I do miss reading and I've attempted to rekindle our love numerous times in the last couple of years. It just hasn't stuck. Try harder? Move on? Moving on...

Arts and crafts. I even have a bin in our guest room closet labeled just that: "arts and crafts". But, the fact that it was written on a piece of computer paper with one color, dried-out, Crayola marker pretty much sums up my "arts and crafts" abilities. I blame Pinterest for my complete discouragement in this category. Any confidence I had in myself to decorate for my kid's birthday, dress myself, paint a bird house, or repurpose toilet paper rolls was shattered when I signed up for Pinterest. Sure, I did a handful of crafts from the site and they turned out great; but, every time I would log on I'd feel pressured to be less like me and more like Martha Stewart. That's not a hobby, that's stress!

Besides, my kid is already way better at art than I'll ever be.

Blogging? Remains to be seen if I can consider it a real hobby. This blog is exactly four posts old. I do enjoy it though. Maybe it'll have a fighting chance. As long as there isn't anything good on TV or food to be eaten.

Aside from asking myself if I have a hobby I found myself asking a scarier question: Am I a boring person? My sister-in-law wasn't married a month before she knew she needed a hobby to keep things interesting. For herself? For her husband? I say both! My husband comes home to a wife who mostly talks about kids, cleans the house, watches TV, eats, looks at her phone, and goes to bed. Repeat 7 days a week. *Again, embarassing* To be fair, he hasn't done much in the way of getting us active in a hobby himself. And he's really good at staring at the tube too. We recently cancelled cable. This... is gonna be interesting. But, he has golf and music and other things that qualify as hobbies. What did we do together before we had kids? Oh yea... go out, see friends, drink, talk about work, and just generally enjoy each other's company. I do, still, enjoy my husband's company; even if we're doing nothing. But, we are "bored" a lot. So, am I a boring person? Man, I sure hope not.

On the path to find something she is passionate about, my sister-in-law opened my eyes. I am painfully aware of my lack of hobby. I am left seeking to ensure that I am not a bore in this life! Once I am happily settled in with my pleasure-filled leisure activity I will be sure to thank her, more than she knows.