Roscoe Anthony

What words are there for Roscoe??  He has been packed with personality since day one.  Big personality.  Big humor. Big kisses and cuddles and high-fives.  Big demands.  Big emotions.  Big smiles.  Big messes.  Big adventures.  His presence is so larger than life that when I see a picture of him, I feel like he is actually there. He just can't be contained in 2D.

He is teaching me so many things.

Roscoe made me a mama and he continues to blaze the trail with eternal enthusiasm and passion and humor.  Being a parent is full of surprises and new insights into ourselves.  I have loved people in my life, but I have never loved like this. A mother's love really is indescribable.  I think I (finally) understand a smidge of what God must feel for us as His children.  I finally get how He can love me when I feel like such a wreck that keeps making the same mistakes again and again.  Of course, I want Roscoe to be happy and I love when he is in a good mood and loving all over us.  But even when he is tantruming and yelling and disobeying and talking back, I still want to be right there with him, helping him work through it.  I don't love him any less, which continually surprises me (maybe I am not quite as selfish and self-absorbed as I thought I was?), and I am focused more on helping him through it than on myself.  On the good days...  :)

I am just loving this age right now.  I love that he can tell me how he feels and tell me what his dreams are about (fishes and dragons and dinosaurs, most recently).  I love that he spontaneously tells me that he loves me and that Daddy is his best friend. I love that he tells Luka "it's going to be alright, Lulu, I'm right here" when she is upset.  I love that when we call Luka "LuluLemon" that he says he is "RoscoeWatermelon".  I love that he tackles her periodically and, despite her protests, hugs her big and tells her "I'll love you forever, Luka, I'll love you forever!"  I love that he gets an exaggerated look of shock on his face when something surprises him.  I love that he "humors me" and tells me the same placating answers I tell him sometimes.  I even love that he looked at me the other and said, "are you KIDDING me?!" in all seriousness.  I love that when he is sleepy and cold he likes me to hold him just so (on the couch...with a blanket...not that blanket, this one...my feet aren't covered...no, hold me like this...)  I love that for the most part he can't be bothered to eat because adventuring and playing is too enticing, but then he surprises us and devours 3 bowls of oatmeal in one sitting (I think they call that binging) and wants more.  I love that he has conversations with all of his toys (just yesterday he was so proud of his lego duplo for being "so brave").  I love when he wakes up from his nap or in the morning and looks for me in the kitchen and runs into my arms.  I love that he calls quesadillas "quesa-Diwas" like his cousin and still calls his guitar his "goontar".  Every day it seems he comes up with a new saying or a new observation that makes me smile.  He is just really fun to hang out with.

I can't imagine how mothering could get better than this; I am head over heels for these two.  God has this way of surprising me, though, and exceeding my hopes and expectations.  Let's see what this next year brings!

Luka Mae

I've been sitting with a blank page for awhile now wondering how to express what I'm feeling.  What Luka means to me.  How much I love her and cherish the opportunity to be her mama.  I wish I could capture the sweetness of her spirit in words so those who don't know her could understand how special she is.  Roscoe blew into our lives like a tsunami, turning everything upside-down and bringing with him endless charm and adventure.  Luka is more of a subtle breeze.  She watches it all with rapt attention, mind whirling, imitating us all.  She puts on my shoes when she sees them on the ground.  She pretends to brush her hair and put her hair clips in.  She says "hi" and waves when people come and go.  She says "shhhh" every time the dogs bark.  She is not happy eating with her fingers and does not want to be fed.  She wants to eat with a utensil and bowl like we do and she notices and complains if she is eating something different than we are.  She hasn't met a food she didn't like.  She does the twinkle, twinkle with her hands whenever music plays and bounces and sways.  She gives sloppy kisses on her own accord and gives a shy sideways smile when her Daddy talks to her.  She adores her brother and generally copies whatever he does.  If he is hopping around in a paper bag, she is trying to get into the bag herself to join the fun.  If he is circling the island in their Flinstone car, she is hanging on the back, her little legs running to keep up as she squeals with delight.  She tries to ride Roscoe's choochoo train, his bike, his scooter, whatever she has seen him ride.  She climbs into the Flinstone car and lounges, content whether or not someone pushes her around.  She loves taking baths and will try to dive into the bathtub whether or not there is water in it.  Sometimes she yells just to sit in her stroller in the living room.  She does this thing when she is really happy where she crinkles her nose and makes little snorty sounds.  Some babies have a boisterous clap, but not Luka.  She has the gentlest, daintiest clap ever clapped.  She has the sweetest tiny birthmark on her wrist that I love, love, love and love to kiss.  I never imagined I would have a daughter and now that I've met her I cannot imagine not having her in my life.  She has brought layers of depth and love and fun into our home and though the days are passing too quickly for me, I am still excited to see what the next year brings and how much better I will know her by her second birthday.

one month 

two months

three months

four months

five months

six months

seven months

eight months

nine months

ten months

eleven months

twelve months 

*one year*

Gratitude

This time of year, as the days and weeks slip by, as The Day of Gratitude escapes with nary a blog post nor a tweet... I can't help but be grateful.  Grateful that my life is so full that I can't even carve out time to vocalize it!  I think, as a parent especially, that life sometimes touches on a sweet spot.  Despite the chaos and business of the day-to-day, there is a knowledge that we are Living the Dream, right here and now.  Watching my son learn to spell his name and learn to take deep breaths when he is frustrated and overwhelmed... Watching my daughter trying again and again to work out this walking thing and seeing her insatiable curiosity as she explores... Watching my husband embrace being a daddy and still impressing his colleagues at work... Watching my friends and family journey through life and loving them all more each year...  I have everything I've ever wanted.  The only nagging complaint I have these days is that I just don't have enough time to savor the days and the blessings.  That's a pretty lame complaint, if I do say so myself.  For this moment, I am ignoring the tasks and worries that crowd my mind so often and I'm just going to sit back and enjoy this Happy-Mess.

Tickly Legs

Roscoe has been waking extra early from the time change and coming into our room while Luka is still sleeping.  This morning went something like this:

Me: "Shhh, Luka is still sleeping"
Roscoe: "No, Mama, it's morning I said.  See? (as he opens the curtains)."

Another few moments of relative silent and I hear (from behind the curtains):

Roscoe: "Oh no, I see a spider.  He's trying to get me with his tickly legs."
Me (trying to appear calm as I panic at the thought of a spider's tickly legs): "He is trying to get you?"
Roscoe: "Yeah.  Because I said 'yikes'!"

Photo Bomb

I'm going Auntie Heather style, folks.  Grab a drink and a comfy chair...

That MIGHT be a froyo mustache Rocs is sporting...

Swinging with Ollie:

Cheeks, oh my:

It's a tough life:

Waiting for the train:

So excited he insisted on standing the whole ride:

Visiting my sweet friend Katrina and her Maxwell:

Cruising the hood:

Rocs' favorite park:

She wears her sunglasses at night:

Pedi:

Dueling pianos:

Duet:

Roscoe was here:

Got her mama's teeth...

Lazy Sunday picnics in the park:

I'm a cow!  Mooo!

I know this face well :)

Lu's first french braid:

After Ray asked me, "whose eyebrows do you think she has?":

Splish-splash (sorry, folks, I won't share the one of him running through the sprinkler naked after he stripped down in the front yard upon returning home to the sprinklers on...)

Yes, that is a pink-flower drum set in our house.  Yes, we are gluttons for punishment:

Roscoe's computer and coffee set up next to mine so he can work with me:

Loving his tracks:

Keep Calm and Muay Thai On:

One of his specialties: the spider drawing:

Soccer:

Ray asked for help because he got stuck.  And I helped, of course.  AFTER I got a photo:

Sweet LuLu:

Girl LOVES the moose rocker:

I *HATE* Soccer

Roscoe loves soccer.  He loves to run around and kick the ball.  He loves the parks and rec classes.  He loves having a teacher and helping clean up and playing the games the teacher makes up.  I would even go so far as to say that he is generally the teacher's pet because he so relishes helping.  It seemed an obvious choice when we signed him up for a 2 month long Daddy & me soccer adventure.  Big Mistake.  Huge.

First of all, we are not sleeping.  Roscoe jack-in-the-boxes out of bed for 2+ hours before he finally stays in his room.  (Trust me, we've tried it all with this boy.  Sleep is not his thing.)  Then, if we're lucky, he sleeps till morning.  If not, he wakes up terrified in the middle of the night from the nightmares he gets from his overactive imagination (like when I had to reassure him the ants and spiders and dragons and monsters would not hide in his closet and then crawl into his butt).  Luka goes to bed easily.  Then wakes up 45 minutes later.  And 45 minutes after that.  And then decides it's day and either i) wants to play for several hours or ii) cries inconsolably.  There is nothing obviously wrong with her and she is fine during the day.  Clearly we are the crabbiest versions of ourselves and it is a wonder we are all still alive.

So, we "wake up" this morning and have to wake up Roscoe since he didn't fall asleep until 10pm.  He is cranky.  He wants to be carried around the house.  Maaaaamaaaa hooooold meeeee.  Luka won't eat.  She just sits there silently, refusing to eat, refusing to sleep.  Her own silent protest to something we can't figure out.  Roscoe doesn't want to change out of his pajamas.  We insist.  He protests at loud decibels.  He ends up in a layered pajama/soccer clothes ensemble.  We finally, finally get to the soccer field.  He doesn't want to walk.  He doesn't want to pick a ball.  He doesn't want to pretend to be an animal and kick  the ball through the obstacle course.  He doesn't want me to play with him.  Or Ray.  We tell him to stop the tantrum or we'll leave.  He doesn't stop and we leave.  He immediately decides he wants to play and "try again."  We say no.  He screams.  We yell.  He cries.  He whines.  He gets a time out.  

Not only do I (semi) willingly subject our family to this every Saturday morning, I actually PAY them to put us through hell.  Only 2 more weeks.  I hate soccer.  Roscoe is obviously NOT a morning person.

Tuesdays with Roscoe

As adorable and wonderful and lovely Luka is, this post is all about Roscoe.

I find myself wishing I had a tape recorder embedded in my mind so that I could capture all of these normal, but ridiculously fun and sweet moments.  All stages of parenting so far have been precious in their own way, but there is something extra special about watching Roscoe develop the language to express himself and tell us what he thinks and feels and what he dreams about.

A sampling:

The wheel falls off Roscoe's garbage truck and he tries in vain to fix it with his "tools."  Realizing he can't fix it, he picks up the "phone" and calls Daddy.  "Hi Daddy.  What you doing?  Oh, ok.  Want to fix my truck?  Ok?  (laughs) Oh, thank you!"


Finding a towel and asking me to wrap it around him and tie it in the back, just so.  And then wrap a plastic thing around the knot.  "I am a chef.  Want a cookie?  I make you a cookie.  Oh, you want some water?  I make you some water.  Here." (holding out upside down Duplo; I take and sip; Luka tries to grab) "No, Luka!  You can't have water!" (laughing and shaking his head and waving his arms like Luka is ridiculous, yet hilarious)


One of his toys becomes hidden inside another toy and he is inspired.  (jumping up and waving his arms) "Abracadabra, allacazoo!  Watch very carefully!  I make a rabbit in a hat!"  (pretends to pull rabbit from hat and holds it out toward me) "Want to pet it?"

Ray wearing his "running tights" under his running shorts.  Roscoe: "what are those?"  Ray: "my superhero pants"  Roscoe: "psssht!"  (rolling eyes, again the ridiculous yet hilarious bit)

Love that boy.

Is It All Too Much?

Let me make one thing clear: I love my life.  I feel super-uber-incredibly blessed and would never trade places with anyone.

That said... I am freaking exhausted.  How do people do it?  In my head I know that people do this all over the world everyday and somehow manage to raise lovely kids and do their jobs well and maintain healthy marriages and take care of themselves.  If I had to describe my life right now, in this stage, in one world I would say it is RELENTLESS.  Always something to-do.  Generally something urgent.  Actually, usually more than one urgent thing to do at once.  Over and over.  All day.  All week.

I am up and out of the house before anyone wakes, rushing to the train.  I go and go all day at work, trying to keep up, trying to balance all of the responsibility.  I love my job, but it is demanding and the buck stops with me.  I respond to emails and read reports while I pump.  I leave work with an endless to-do list still to do.  I (literally) almost run to the train on the way home so I can get home in time to relieve Nani.

I want to fall over as soon as I walk in the door, but I see the kids' anxious faces, needing me to show them love and attention.  I chase Roscoe around the house telling him how much I missed him while he squeals with delight.  I cuddle Luka and nibble her neck and carry her, carry her because she does not want me to put her down.  And Roscoe wants to be held.  They need me.  But they also need to eat, so I try and distract them or play with them while I find something for dinner.  I look out the window every 30 seconds, hoping to see Ray's car pull up.  He gets home and it is perfect and lovely and chaotic.  And time is ticking because the kids need to be in bed in an hour.  Must eat.  Bathe.  Clean up.  Change.  Play.  Read.  Cuddle.  Sing.

Now for Me Time.  I pack my lunch and Roscoe's lunch for the next day.  I lay out my clothes so I don't wake anyone in the morning.  I pack my work bag and go through work emails and try and plan my priorities for the next day, so I don't drop any balls.  I do the dishes and half-heartedly pick up the mess of the day.  Ray tries to be home to play with the kids, but then often has to work after they go to bed.  We work next to each other in silence, no energy left.

I squint at my screen because I can't figure out when I will be able to go to the eye doctor to get new glasses.  I chew on one side of my mouth because I already had to reschedule two dentist appointments to get the cavity fixed.  I still haven't unpacked my desk stuff since we moved over a year ago.  There are piles all over the house needing my attention.  Weighing me down.  It is all weighing me down.

Where did the day go?  Where are the months going?  I feel like I barely saw my kids most days, like I haven't actually had a conversation with Ray in months.  But I can't feel sorry for myself because this is just life.  Many families need both parents to work.  Many family have two small children.  I don't know if our situation is any different or if I just have less energy than the average person because to me it really seems like too much.  Too much running.  Too much stress.  Too much achiness as I drag my body through the days.  Too much missing the man I married and the kids we adore.

Something has to change.  I don't know what it is yet.  But I will find a way.  I don't want this to be how my kids grow up and what I model for them to emulate.  If this is normal, I refuse to settle for status quo.  It is time to get creative...

Mama Trauma

Be still my beating-out-of-my-chest heart...

Background:  I switched around my schedule a bit so I have Tuesday mornings home with the kids.

Scene: Kitchen Table.  We were having a great time playing and eating breakfast (no tantrums yet, no stern voices, all fun).  Roscoe jumps up from breakfast and runs to the bathroom announcing he has to go potty (his clothes are already off because earlier he claimed he had an owie on his butt-butt and needed a band-aid...yes, I really will do anything for my kids.)

Now The Fun Begins: He gets to the bathroom and slams the door (unusual).  I grab Luka and check it out.  He not only slammed the door; he locked it, too.  I have picked the lock to his bedroom door many times and I wasn't particularly concerned about the bathroom because a) he never shuts the door and b) it is one of those push locks that are pretty easy to pick (except for this one).

I have actually had this scenario play out in my head many times, but it was always him in his bedroom and me trying to figure out how to break into his bedroom window.  First I tried to coach him through turning the knob to open the door.  He knows how to open doors, so I thought he could do it but "it was really stuck" according to Roscoe.  I go outside and check if the window is open.  No.  Shoot.

Then I tried a bobby pin.  No luck.  I try again to have him try and turn the knob "harder!"  "you can do it!"  Roscoe started whimpering a bit and telling me he was scared and come get him.  I teetered on panic and called Ray at work to ask how to pick the lock.  I tried a hanger.  And a paper clip.  No luck.  The thing is this original-to-the-house door had clearly had its lock picked a time or twenty and I just could not get the darn thing to pop.  I Google lock picking and watch a YouTube video, but nothing new there.  Crap.  Roscoe still scared.  Mama starting to really wonder what can be done.  All the while keeping a running conversation with Roscoe through the door and reassuring him that there is nothing to be scared of and I am coming to get him.  Roscoe keeps telling me, in a brave voice, that he is scared.  And panicking if I don't keep talking to him "where are you, Mama?!"

Mama Bear kicks in.  I will get in there.  NOW.  I strap Luka into her bouncy seat which she hates and never uses, but with the crawling now she gets into everything and I figured she can cry and be mad for a few minutes.  I go outside, clear the path to the window (praying I don't see any spiders), get out the ladder and a screwdriver and get the window open.  Hooray!  Roscoe is so happy to see me and I am so relieved to see his little naked body.  But, wait.  The window is high.  Above the tub.  I spent a good amount of time trying to contort my body through the window and figure out where I could go from there without hurting myself.  I am still coaching Roscoe to open the door - not this way, both hands, harder, you can do it.  And he does!!!  The door opens!!  OMG sweet relief.

For a split second... until I hear Luka scream.  I run down the ladder and into the house to see the bouncy seat upside down.  She had managed to flip it over with her in it.  Ugh.  I check for injuries and comfort her.  And Roscoe.  Life happens for a few minutes and then it is time to put Luka to sleep.  She will not sit still, though, and refuses to nurse.  She ALWAYS wants to nurse. I think maybe she is not tired and just needs to crawl around a bit more, so we play for 10 minutes and then I try again.  She still won't nurse and she coughs a little, which is odd.  On a whim, I put my pinkie in her mouth just to make sure she didn't have a bit of breakfast banana still in there and pull out A CHUNK OF... SOMETHING.  I have no idea what it is, but it is the size of a dime and very soggy.  OMG.  I almost put her down for a nap with that in her mouth.  She has had it in her mouth for who knows how long (I am assuming she got it during the pick-lock debacle).  I am so relieved, but shaken.

And then I realize.  It is 9:30am.  I have been up for hours.  I have not eaten any breakfast or had a sip of water.  Or coffee.  I am exhausted.  Apparently so was Luka because she went down for her nap pretty quickly.  I've said it before and I will say it again: this parenting thing is NO JOKE.

We've got a... Scoot-er?

Luka is mobile!  Just exactly what she is doing to propel herself across the room, that I am not sure about.  It is kind of a scoot-inchworm maneuver with hints of army crawling.  Whatever the case, she is speedier by the day.

And fueling all of that mobility is... a LOT of milk and food.  That girl can put it down.  There is a distinct possibility she takes in more calories than her brother who has no time for food when there are adventures to be had.  She may have her Daddy's coloring and head shape and feet, but she got her Mama's appetite!

Rocs & Lu

Luka is just a sweet, sweet pea.  She loves to cuddle (well, only Ray and I and sometimes Nani, but I don't mind...) and is so easy to smile.  She loves watching her big brother do just about anything.  She especially loves whenever both her and Roscoe are doing the same thing - like both eating a Mum Mum cracker or both rolling around on the ground.  Poor little Lu is cutting her SIXTH tooth (I think we are all desperate for a break after this one!) and getting cuter by the day (she is.  for real.)  She has this special look that she reserves only for Ray.  When he greets her after a day at work she gets this sweet little shy smile and kind of burrows her head while looking at him sideways, just eating up his attention.


Roscoe is as sweet and energetic as ever.  He is enjoying the Olympics and has added diving and "'nastics" to his tumbling repertoire.  Diving looks similar to other tumbles but then he "splashes" around after he flips.  His joie de vivre is contagious and the best stress-buster.  Some recent conversations heard around here:

(As we crossed the bridge into the City)
Me: Roscoe - do you see that City?  That's San Francisco!
Roscoe: I see a rocket ship!!  (that would be the Transamerica Building)

Ray (singing The Zombies song):  What's your name? (pause) Who's your Daddy?
Roscoe (singing back to the same beat):  My name is Roscoe! (pause) You're Daddy!

Life is indeed good.

Let's Play!

This morning I was already jumping into my regular "day off" routine: start laundry, change kids, check work email, feed breakfast, change laundry, pay bills, check work email...  Roscoe was not up for it this morning.  First was the "sit with me" while he ate breakfast and I ran around the kitchen putting this away and that away.  Then came the "let's play" as soon as I opened my laptop to pay bills.  Normally (I hate to admit) I say "not now" or "two minutes" or something to just let me get through whatever I have to get done.  But this morning I saw his perfect little face full of hope and I couldn't do it.  So I said "let's play" and he laughed from sheer delight.

I love this boy with everything in me.

As we were midway through a rousing game of hock-socc-ball (this involves hitting a soccer ball with a hockey stick while the other person catches it with a baseball glove, generally with a baby strapped to them), Roscoe stopped and said "I'm going to get you" and came over and gave me a sweet kiss. (!)  Then he saw how happy I was and asked "do you want huggies?"  After I recovered from my speechless happiness I told him I love huggies, thank you.  He said "you're welcome" and resumed playing.  Point taken: hock-socc-ball is ALWAYS more important than bills.

Oh How the Years (Weeks, Days, Hours) Go By...

How time flies!  The kids are growing so fast!  


Do I sound old?  (well, I AM almost 33, which used to seem ancient...)


I think Someone has been sneaking a few hours out of the day because I look at my watch at 9:36 a.m. and then I look again only 30 minutes later and somehow it says 4:45 p.m!  Every day!  Come to think of it, I am pretty sure that Someone is sneaking a few hours from the night, too.  That might explain the zombie eyes I wake up with.


Right, back to the kids.


Roscoe is taking a swimming class with Ray this summer.  He has no fear (typical Rocs) and happily jumps off the side of the pool (in the general direction of Ray).  He puts his face in and blows bubbles.  He also (very enthusiastically) splashes anyone and everything near him.  

Luka is sprouting teeth like a pro.  Two down (bottom) and another one coming (top).  She is less vocal about the teething pain than Roscoe was (Roscoe was inconsolable - even with painkillers - and woke every hour of the night for months).  Luka is definitely harder to settle these days than normal and doesn't sleep as well either.  She has, in fact, taken to waking for the day around 4 a.m. and talking (loudly) to herself while she rolls and kicks and scratches and pinches.  Sometimes I can settle her down enough to fall asleep around 6 a.m.  Just in time for Ray and I to get up and get ready for work.  SIGH.  

I could say we are potty training Roscoe, but the truth is that Roscoe is kind of potty training himself.  The books all say to wait for things like that until the baby is 6 months old because otherwise the older sibling can rebel against the "growing up" and regress.  Since we already did the Big Boy Bed transition (which, to be honest, is still a battle) I wasn't in a hurry to start potty training, too.  But, Roscoe has started taking off his pants and diaper himself and going on his potty, so I guess that means he is ready...  He is doing pretty well so far, but this stage is hard.  He alerts us quite often that he needs to go - in the middle of his dance class, in the middle of Trader Joe's, 26 times when he is supposed to be going to sleep - but about half of the time he then just sits on the potty and hangs out.  One time he even leaned over and did a somersault off of the potty (leave it to Roscoe to make going pee an acrobatic adventure!).  Overall, though, he is doing a great job and making his Mama pretty proud of the big boy he is becoming.


Speaking of big boy, he is still cracking me up with the stuff he says.  He came up to Ray and I the other day and asked us, "What you guys doing?"  I just can't get over hearing things like that come out of my baby's mouth.  The other day I was (at his request) making him a "superhero" (i.e. cape) out of a bath towel.  I found a safety pin to secure the front and he cautioned me, "try be careful, Mom" and then when I successfully made the cape without injury he clapped furiously and exclaimed, "good job listening to me!"  Oh, Roscoe, sweet boy.  

His Daddy's Boy, that is for certain:

 Jordan and Roscoe's first concert together (the twins were wearing Thing 1 and Thing 2 hoodies hehe):

He read my mind!  (only kidding):

Taking Little Sis for a ride on his tricycle:

Luka looking festive in the outfit Nani got her:

Saturday morning Sprout:

This girl loves the swing:

Even though the swing has never been Roscoe's favorite, he is not one to be left out:

Pigtails in the park:

Baby-Bear-wearing:

Still loves marching bands and loves a homemade drum:

My how things have changed (and yet they haven't...):

Our tumbler: