I always knew I’d be the mom of two little boys.
I’m not sure how I knew.
But I knew.
I waited for you.
I longed for you.
I dreamed for you.
And now that you’re here, my boys.
I want you to know.
You are the most incredible creatures.
I am inspired by you.
I am amazed by you.
I am blessed by you.
I always knew I’d be the mom of two little boys.
I’m not sure how I knew.
But I knew.
‘My brother-in-law grew a third boob after he showered shoeless at the gym one time,’ I remind myself as I towel off my exposed toes. ‘Too late now,’ I sigh as I make a mental note to pick up a pair of flip flops during my next Target trip.
He didn’t really grow a third boob, my brother-in-law, it just looked like one. If I were to be anatomically correct, the large lump on Scott’s chest was actually a clogged gland caused by a staph infection he contracted from showering without shoes at the gym. But don’t worry, a couple weeks and several steroid doses later, his third boob vanished.
But the story never did. Scott still tells it all the time. And every time, I laugh.
My brother-in-law is full of stories. And I love listening to them, especially the ones about him and David. Because of Scott, I feel like I’ve known David decades before I married him.
I’ve heard the one a million times about David pelting him with a pencil when they were kids. And it always ends with both boys in the emergency room with a few millimeters of lead being removed from the back of Scott’s head.
I’ve heard the one a million times about the early morning pillow fights they had when David would give his little brother 10 free hits before tearing after him in retaliation. It always ends with their dad waking from a deep sleep, red faced, and chasing after both boys in his underwear yelling at them to stop.
I’ve heard the one a million times about how 12 year old David conned an 8 year old Scott to spray the can of AquaNet at a pile of leaves they spent all morning raking. It always ends with neither of their parents being home while David lights the fluid on fire with a match. To this day, they both laugh and wonder how they made it out of that story alive. I do, too.
David and Scott have a million stories. And every time I hear them, I laugh. The lives these two brothers share is so close and so incredible, I only hope the magic their relationship holds can be sprinkled from this generation to the next.
Because Reichen and Latham are going to start making their own stories soon. And I can’t wait to hear them over, and over, and over again. And laugh.
It’s 8:30pm, I’ve brushed his teeth, read him books, and Reichen is in my lap snuggling one more minute before bed and I whisper…
Me: “Reichen, you and Latham are the most amazing little boys in the whole world. I love you so much.”
{pause}
{pause}
Me: “What do you say when mommy says she loves you?”
Reichen: “I. Want. To. Go. To. The. Mall.”
The way David plays with the boys is so different from the way I play with them. I play cars, read, and have picnics with them. David wrestles, tackles, and throws balls at them while they run. Seriously. And here’s the latest activity my husband has taught my 2 year old how to play, if you can call it that.
Everything your brother does, you want to do too
Riding tractors, playing cars, it doesn’t matter much to you.
You think Reichen is amazing, and of course, we agree
But as his baby brother, there’s something special that you see.
You think he’s so hilarious whenever your sibling speaks
You laugh hard, and loud, and show the dimples in your cheeks.
If Reichen takes off running, like his shadow you’re behind him
And if he’s missing a few toys, you never stop until you find them.
When your brother asks for milk, you too, beg for a cup
If a hamburger is for lunch, you both dunk it in ketchup.
Reichen calls you ‘Bob-O’, a nickname you adore
If anyone calls you ‘Latham,’ you don’t even look; you ignore.
I love how much you love him, and guess what, he loves you too
When he gets a piece of cheese, Reichen always splits it with you.
He likes to share his toys and pushes you on the swing
He throws away your trash and likes it when you sing.
Two brothers who are buddies, I couldn’t ask for anything more
I’m so excited to see the other surprises you boys have in store.
My eyes hurt. So, I close them.
But I still see you.
And what you’re doing.
Underneath your smoke and mirrors.
Underneath your shiny veneers.
Underneath your magic tricks.
And I may kiss the boo boos of butterflies.
And ride to the moon with Buzz and Woody.
And sing alligators to sleep.
But I still see you.
And what you’re doing.
Even though my eyes hurt. And I’ve closed them.
He wears his helmet every day whether he rides his tricycle or not, my 3 year old son. His favorite place to wear it: the car.
And I let him.
He laughs and says he feels amazing when he wears the protective piece. And I agree.
Because who am I to take away amazing?
But one day, he’ll change his mind. Some one will see him and say his helmet is not amazing.
And he’ll believe them.
I dread that day. I wish I could protect my son’s spirit from what society says is and is not amazing.
Until then, I’ll sneak peeks of his sweet face from my rear view mirror. And laugh with him when his happy helmet giggles bubble from his belly and spill all over his brother and me.
And that’s amazing.
Keeping your eyes on the road with both hands on the wheel is so overrated.
Especially when there are two toddlers in the back laughing and saying, “Look at me, Mommy! Look at me, Mommy!”
Sometimes, when you sleep, you scream.
The sound rips me awake.
And I run.
To you.
You’re soaked in sweat. Crumpled in covers. And tears fall from your lids.
You’re asleep.
The only sound from your struggle has been stifled in slumber.
The thick, groggy, haze holds you hostage.
And I hate it.
So, I whisper.
You’re safe. You’re loved. You’re wanted.
You’re kind. You’re funny. You’re smart.
You’re handsome. You’re sweet. You’re special.
You never need to have another nightmare again.
But if you do.
Scream.
And I’ll run.
To you.
When you’re tired, you yawn, and start rubbing your eyes
And what you ask me to get you still makes me surprised.
“My Ramones,” you demand as soon as you lay down
And you toss, and you turn until they are found.
So we scour the house, your dad, brother, and me
We search for your Cars from the Disney movie.
It’s not Doc, Flo, or Mac; not even Lightening
It’s the low rider you crave, the cool ’59 Chevy.
“We found them,” I yell as we all bound up the stairs
I plop them in your palm which relieves your despair.
I kiss you goodnight and you smile at me sweetly
You grab your two cars and roll over completely.
I check on you later, with mouth open you’re snoring
On your belly you lie and it’s cars you’re still holding.
You think they are amazing and you love them so much
You’re my sweet little boy who sleeps with cars in his clutch.
Reichen: “Latham, you are an amazing genius. I’m so proud of you.”
What Reichen told Latham after watching him walk down the stairs for the very first time all by his 2 year old self. I melted a little bit inside when I heard it. Okay, I melted a lot of bit.
“What is wrong with you,” I hear her scream as Reichen heaves open the door to the gym childcare room and Latham and I follow. “I told you,” she threatens, “if you do not stop acting like an idiot, you’ll be sorry.” Her teeth are clenched as each hateful word spews from her mouth. She grips her son’s arm and shakes it as she yells at him. And he is terrified. The 6 year old is crying so hard, he can’t even catch his breath. “Trust me,” she says as she shoves her son into the arms of a waiting childcare worker, “you do not want me to be the one who takes you out of here.” And with that, she leaves her sobbing son behind.
I realize I’m not breathing when all of a sudden I gulp for air. I can not believe what I just witnessed and think to myself, if that’s how that little boy’s mother talks to him in public, what happens to him in private? The thought made me sick.
And still does.
I drop to my knees immediately so I can look at my two toddlers in their blue eyes and remind them we never talk like that to anyone.
Ever.
Reichen looks at me and nods. Latham just looks.
I end up working out with that woman in a group fitness class. I’m on one side of the room and she’s on the other. There’s probably 30 people between her and me, and yet, I can’t see anyone else. As the instructor is telling us to run faster or jump higher, I can’t think about anything other than what just happened.
And I still can’t.
Today was obviously not the first time I’ve witnessed a parent berating a child. I was at the grocery store last week scouring the aisles for Rotel, when I heard a mom raising her voice with her child.
“You are a bad girl,” I couldn’t help but her her say, even though I was one aisle over. “You never keep your hands to yourself.” By now, I’ve maneuvered my cart around the corner and see who she’s scolding: a baby. “Why don’t you ever listen to me? You’re useless.”
Now, I don’t know exactly how old her baby was, but I do know that little girl could not have been more than 18 months. She was so young, she was actually propped on the front seat of the grocery cart still strapped in her carseat And already, her mother has deemed her useless. And I wonder, if that’s how that little girl’s mother talks to her in public, what happens to her in private? The thought made me sick.
And still does.
I don’t understand people talking like that to their children. And I don’t want to. Just the thought makes me sick.
And still does.
We wanted to wait until the day you arrived
When they said “it’s a boy,” we were super surprised.
You were such a big baby, you weighed nearly 10 pounds
With blue eyes, brown hair, and hardly ever a frown.
We held you and loved you in our arms so tight
We never put you down; not at all that first night.
When Reichen came for a visit, he was only a year and a half
We said, “Here’s you new brother;” he then kissed you and laughed.
You’ve grown up so much since that very first day
You walk and you talk and you can’t wait to horseplay.
You now sleep in a twin bed and eat taco meat
You’re learning to count and are quite an athlete.
I can’t believe time has passed, it has happened so quickly
You’re two years today, which just doesn’t seem likely.
It’s our honor to love you, you’re such an amazing boy
Happy Birthday Latham Mason, you’re our pride and our joy.
If you knew it was the last time, when it was the last time,
what would you say?
He didn’t know, my dad.
He didn’t get to say, what he always meant to say,
to his big brother.
He only said
goodbye.
And hung up the phone.
And it was,
goodbye.
My dad’s brother has passed.
And I wonder, if my dad knew
it would be the last time, when it was the last time,
would he have said, what he should have said
every time
for the first time.
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devon spec on The Great Giveaway
hi tash! i follow you on facebook, & bloglines. :) i have no idea what google friend is! i might have to look into this... i would put the design...on Can You Say Awkward? I Knew You Could.
I love, love, love the pictures. :-)Single Dad Laughing on The Great Giveaway
Hmmmm... who doesn't like free crap. I mean free awesome stuff. I can't wait till I'm as popular as you! .-= Single Dad Laughing´s last blog ..My pain can beat up...Emily on Can You Say Awkward? I Knew You Could.
Mmmmm Double Demin always a good look?! Those picture made me laugh - not yours, yours are awesome! .-= Emily´s last blog ..A few of my favourite things =-.Nina on The Great Giveaway
Noon your time or time? Oh well, family isn't probably eligible anyway, but I would put my beautiful grandsons on my bottle. I follow you through Google.