He’s Not a Monkey Any More

Lately, Evan has really been into self-identification. Everyone and everything must have a definition and a proper noun. No longer just a dinosaur; it’s an orange triceratops whose name is Cera. Mommy is also Bethe and a woman. Daddy is also Dave and a strong man.  My baby is no longer my Monkey. He wants to be called a boy or Evan. Sometimes I can sneak in the occasional buddy or baby, but true identification still remains important to him.


It all came too fast and I don’t know when the heck we progressed to this phase. He’s only 2½, yet far too independent for my mommy worries. He climbs, he runs, and he wants to explore. And I fight the urge not to coddle or overreact to every scrape and bruise. David watches with a cautious eye, too, and sometimes he has to place a hand on my arm to soothe.

Seriously, can you please stop making such a big deal?

Logically, I know this is all part of growing up and so much more is to come. Evan is advanced for his age and has my fierce independence. He will always be my baby, my first born, and the first one to teach me about truly selfless love. And he still does like to cuddle, give growly bear hugs, and big juicy kisses. He runs to me after barreling down the waterslide to make sure I saw his daredevil, head-first move.

First cuddles

I’m just scared because time moves so fast. One day I’ll have to park the car down the street just so I don’t embarrass him in front of his too cool friends when I hug him a little too tightly before saying goodbye. And one day he might move away from me just like I did to my family.

It’s all so crazy to think about and I try to focus on the now. He’s so funny, so smart, and asks the most random questions. I’m trying to stay in the present and savor every moment. But I’ve always hated when trailers give away the movie. I want to be surprised about the coming attractions and enjoy watching the drama or comedy unfold. So I guess, for now, I’ll just turn a blind eye until I’m forced to retire the Monkey moniker forever.

--Signed the writer formerly known as “Munchkin.”

Patience Takes Too Long

I’m impatient. Once I make a decision, I want that thing right away. It’s not one of my finer attributes (just ask my husband), but it does cause me to be decisive and self-assured. Then, once that initial rush is gone, I’m only left with the agonizing oh-my-God-it’s-only-been-5-minutes (just ask my family).

This IS my patient face.

Lately, impatience has reared it’s mocking, ugly head in so many ways. I found the perfect ocean decals for Evan’s new big boy room, ordered them, and then realized they have to be shipped from China. Sigh!

"Under the Sea. Darling it's better when we get things faster. Take it from me."

I talk to my belly, telling Mojo to cook faster and come out healthy before the due date. I’ve decided she shouldn’t re-decorate her living quarters with an eviction of my ribs, and I forcibly push those powerful feet back in.

I’m aching for that Mega Millions check to be placed in my hand, for gas prices to drop back to when I started driving at $1 per gallon, and for TV to go back to real content and quality actors. ‘Cuz really, how many cutthroat dating, dancing, and singing shows do we need? Except, I’ll keep Wipeout, b/c dudes falling in the water amuses me as much as Evan.

Now, the chances of any of those things happening or even coming about quickly are slim to none. But that doesn’t mean my stubborn streak decreases. In fact, it just gets worse as time goes on and my impatience meter goes into the red.

Seriously, why do we have free will if we can’t speed up the space time continuum? Sigh again. I think my super power would be like Doctor Who’s so I can go anywhere at any time with a trip in a phone booth.

Of course, if we could speed up time, I would get gray hairs faster, my children wouldn’t want as many hugs, and goodbyes would come much quicker. But that doesn’t mean I will grow patience any time soon or stop trying to rush the days. I’ll just try to remember that patience is a virtue and life sometimes takes its sweet time unveiling the mysteries of the world.

Hey! He Has My Mouth, Or At Least My Sassiness.

Sorry to be gone so long. My little bambina has been making herself known lately and has been taking impish glee from making me sick. On the bright side, there are only about 57 more days until she's here and can take even more merriment from my sluggishness and general lack of prompt bathing. Oh the joys of motherhood!

But seriously, kids are amazing. We take pride in their accomplishments and some sick satisfaction that they look more like us than our mate. Case in point are some recently unearthed photos from Dad's latest scanning project. I’ve laughed and cried at quite a few of them. Plus, it’s amazing now to look back and see the similarities between Evan and me.

Sly grins right before we pounce on unsuspecting pets.





Our love of all furry woodland creatures.

Our love of reading--even if it is through osmosis sometimes.





Our love of soccer and hanging out with guys with dark hair.

And we have parents who dressed us up as deranged animal-like creatures, then are surprised when we're caught looking bewildered and slightly ticked.