Walking Not So Much

William is a doll. I love every single bit of him. But he wins the prize for the slowest developing child in our house. Holy moly. Will he ever walk? Will he ever talk? Will he ever stop screaming to get your attention? Will he ever get more teeth?

I knew he was slow on the walking front, but just today it dawned on me that he is months behind where the other kids were at this age. The girls were walking at 12 months or so. Henry was running at 10 months. William. He's special. He barely takes a step, that little rascal. I do have to say that I have knowingly neglected "teaching" him how to walk. I haven't wanted him to walk really. But he is 14 months afterall, and it seems that maybe now there should be some interest on his part. But there isn't.

I remember 4 years ago we took the girls to my parents house in Arizona for them to watch the kids while we went to Hawaii. I distinctly remember telling my mom not to worry because anything the girls wanted they would be able to tell her, verbally. Gwen was 14 months old. And talking a blue streak. She was the most amazing thing I ever did see. Full sentences from the moment she first opened her mouth to speak. Perfect strangers would hear us talking and be shocked to learn that she was barely over one. William won't even utter the word "mama". I know he can. We've all heard him say it on occasion. But it only sneaks out every blue moon. His preferred way to communicate? Squealing. It is not lovely.

I have always, always said that I wish the first year of my babies life actually lasted two years. I mean they are only babies for such a short short time, that I, for one, would love to have that extended by double. I love the first year! And from the looks of it, I finally am getting my wish. William just needs to crawl and not speak for another eight months and I'll have my William's first year last two!

Season's Greetings 2011

This past year, more than ever, I have found myself full of gratitude for the abundant blessings in my life. I am especially grateful for my family. Even if we are that crazy family with a bunch of loud, little kids with sticky faces and messy, uncombed hair. Crazy is my new normal. But along with crazy comes fun, and I couldn’t be more grateful for my fun, crazy life.

Gabriella is breezing through first grade with her usual exuberance and confidence. I don’t think she’s met a person or challenge she hasn’t greeted with a smile (even if half her teeth have been missing for the past year and a half). She’s outgoing, full of energy, and such a big help to me. She loves running and swimming. Earlier this fall when I told her we signed her up for soccer, she looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Moooom. Soccer’s not really my thing.” When asked what her “thing” was, she replied, “You know. Something more like gymnastics or cheerleading.” So an athlete? Maybe not. But she did score the most goals of her teammates, so we’re not giving up on her that quickly.

Gwen, on the other hand, was heard saying to the opponents at her first soccer game, “Show me whatcha got big boys.” She’s the house clown that’s for sure. She’s a funny girl who can drop the best one-liners and get everyone rolling. She is our creative one. She has an imagination that I envy. She is like the MacGyver of crafts. Anything she finds or sees turns into one of her “projects” at the kitchen island. We have had many, many hours of wonderful, quality conversation while she crafts and I cook. Kindergarten isn’t going to know what hits it when she shows up next year. And I will shed some tears to see my little girl go.

Henry. My boy. My sweet, sweet boy. What doesn’t kill you, can only make you stronger. And so far, I haven’t killed him yet. He’s not a bad kid…he’s just terrible. But he is 2.5 so I’m still holding out hope for him. But man alive, he’s equally as adorable as he is trouble. He honestly is a sweetheart. He lives in a world of sound effects. No matter the toy, it will have a motor that goes, really, really fast. If he isn’t revving his toy up to go, he’s aiming it at something to shoot. He has various shooting sounds, depending on the situation. He a-dores Gabriella. 100% a-dores her. He even calls to “Babiellwa” when he wants to get out of his crib. And yes, he’s still in a crib. He doesn’t climb out and I’m no dummy. He can sleep in that crib until he’s 4 as far as I’m concerned. He still affectionately claims William as his very own possession and only refers to him as “my baby.” It is quite endearing.

“My baby” (aka babycakes, chubb chubbs, fatty face, William) just turned one and has carved out an enormous place for himself in every family members heart. He is as good as they come. We are all very tightly wound around his pudgy little finger. And he knows it. Very recently he’s discovered that he can, in fact, make noise-very loud, shrieking type noises-and get everyone’s attention…within a five-mile radius. He has perfected what I like to call “the corkscrew” where he rolls over triumphantly in the midst of every diaper change. And he has successfully mastered pooping his pants in the wee hours of the morning for that ever thrilling and aggravating corkscrew wrestling match bright and early. His other talents include fake laughing, sitting on books you are reading, flopping face down onto the floor when upset, and fake crying. So far we have successfully kept him from walking, but I fear the end is near and he will be on his way very soon…most likely in the opposite direction of Henry.

Joe is, of course, most happy this time of year. He has continued to embrace, with unwavering commitment, the most expensive hobby known to mankind. Hunting. Each time he shoots a turkey or deer I ask, but not really wanting to know the answer, “So, how much did this one cost?” He reminds me that the joy is in the journey. What a joy it has been! He welcomes and is desperately seeking any hunting buddies. He’s already taken Henry along to lay deer feed and prepare his tree stand and I can see the anticipation in his eyes for when Henry can join him on his hunts. However, Henry is the loudest person on the face of the planet, so I can’t see that happening anytime soon.

As for me, I think often of when Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz famously repeats, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” She is, of course, referring to Kansas. While I don’t quite share that level of devotion to this state, I can say that I do have a soft spot for the comforts and conveniences of my home and small town living. I have an appreciation for the joys of a simple, calm life and having all that I really need close by. I’m adjusting, sometimes begrudgingly, okay, kicking and screaming at times, about not having everything I want as close as I’d like. But I’m busier than I’ve ever been with the ins and outs of 4 little children, so those wants have swiftly, and rightfully so, moved down my list of priorities. Being here, right now, I’m continually being reminded is such a blessing and is exactly where we belong.

We hope this letter finds each of you remembering the greatest blessing of all, our Savior Jesus Christ. Happy holidays from our family.

Joseph. Jamie. Gabriella. Gwyneth. Henry. William.