Riding the Rails of Yesteryear and Yesterweek

So back in the day, I had a big brother that took me on my first train/car ride in my very own boxmobile that he had built for me. Lucky me and thanks David! I'm sure I must have liked it somewhat more than the picture capturing the moment might indicate. So, it would seem that Benjamin is just following family tradition. Even little Dylan got to ride in his very own caboose. All aboard! Tonight we'll be adding to our family gratitude list, "We're thankful for cardboard. Especially boxes. Big ones."

Pullman Car

Yes. This is really where Benjamin slept one night last week. His idea. And I let him. I just couldn't say no. After all, as you can see, it wasn't any ordinary box. It was a sleeper coach on the Sante Fe Express. He seemed to sleep quite peacefully. I know because I just couldn't stop myself from peeking in on him many times.

Strummin on the old 'anjo.

Never a dull life around here--even for Dylan. Even when he's in his crib. The other two boys carried their stools in from the bathroom so that they could see him better and "chat" with him more.

Es Lebe d' Sport!

There I was. The mother of a third boy. Not quite four weeks after Dylan's arrival. Taking in the beauty of that moment when a father holds his child in his arms and blesses him before the congregation of family and supporters. That is to say, I was trying to hone in on the sublime while I heard Eric's words and simultaneously worked to calm a three year old who was broken hearted because:

1. We had forgotten to bring the water bottle that he had decided was the most necessary thing in the world for his survival that Sunday. Wailing and gnashing of teeth--even promises of the magical church water fountain to no avail.

2. He was surely coming down from the company high from the influx of two sets of grandparents, an uncle, aunt and doting cousins in our house not to mention a newborn who would not be leaving.

3. And after diffusing shrieks and full body thumps on the floor of a classroom, it dawned on me that in the tango of getting ready for church, no one had fed the child any lunch.
My firstborn was however finally tame once more sitting next to me at the pew and with sighs of acquiescence and residual sobs accepting each proffered fruit snack--all that I could seem to find with any caloric content in my diaper bag. I have a vague memory of five bags in rapid fire. A record on ripping and consuming by my count.

And Dylan Rhys Chambers was blessed and it was sweet. And then Eric said the words and I heard the words that neither of us were quite expecting, "a love of sport." No, not a love of the arts, or music or nature or animals. A love of sport. I should be grateful. Dylan did return to my arms from his blessing with the name we had agreed upon (not like when Eric's great-great grandfather Orange Warner Chambers gave his grandson a blessing and named him "Orange" because he was doing the blessing--a family name--strange but yes true--but also not the planned on name and probably the reason this man was called "Babe" or sometimes Warner by his family and friends) and I do hope that Dylan will be a good sport, love good laughs and enjoy games and in general be healthy, strong and happy. But am I up for all the love of sports? I had by that point already given up on hair bows, dresses and dolls and pinks and frills. I'd even applauded one of Isaac's first words--"ball" and gladly tossed it back and forth with him. I made sure the boys had a basketball hoop, a soccer goal and various sundry sport items. And then there are football Saturdays. But that all paled in the light of the latest fatherly proclamation. Sigh. I saw the dust caking on the Anne of Green Gables complete set and viva la dog-eared copies of play books and little league coaching tips. But I must run because while Dylan might very well love sports more than his mother (not difficult in any regard), he's not currently loving being the recipient of Isaac's wrestling attempts. Isaac is about to sit on his head. Time to blow the whistle on that.

Madhatting

Benjamin came home yesterday from his preschool group chanting "Caps for Sale" inspired by the book of the day and proceeded to gather up his hats and pile them on his head like the cap man. So it was serendipitous that we received a new hat in the mail today for baby Dylan from Uncle Mike and Aunt Renae.

Very, very cute hat--worth smiling about!
Of course Isaac had to try it on for size as well.

There's a Monster at the End of This Blog

Please. Please. Don't keep reading. If I can keep you from reading then, you will not see the monster at the end of this entry. What you're still reading! Please. Please. Don't scroll down another bar. I've told you there's a monster at the end and you really don't want to see it. (This is a bit of a litmus test--if you are the mother to a toddler, you will recognize the preceding allusion.)

Look here's the monster.


You're right. It wasn't really a monster. It was just Benjamin.

And Isaac will protect me. With a shoe for a weapon. (Have I mentioned how serious he is about his shoes? Even if we have forgotten where they are, he knows and will go and get them. And carry them around until you finally put them on for him.)

Life Under the Big Top

It's not a far stretch to envision the circus life in our living room. Most days, it goes without saying with nary a prop. This week however, Benjamin has taken it to all new levels as master of ceremonies under our parachute big top. He goes around singing, "Circus man (clown) came to town, wearing circles all around/There were circles on his head and circles on his toes/He wears circles wherever he goes. (In case you're wondering, sing this to the tune of "This Old Man"). At our circus, the elephants dance and the clowns perform which includes throwing lots of little plastic balls as far as we can and when we're lucky they land on the top of the circus tent and roll back down. That's very giggly fun. Our current audience is seated on a cushy bench and includes three dinosaurs, a duck, a bear, a stuffed "Towmater" truck, a bumblebee and of course several "pup-pup" dogs. Today Zorro the magician also amazed us with his disappearing coin trick. Please stop by for some of that abracadabra! And don't forgot to buy your popcorn. Five cents! We have the best deal in town!

Isaac, of course, continues to relish in his lion act by chasing us around with his deep, throaty roars. It's not necessarily an empty threat either--I learned that one day with yelps and consternation when he zeroed in on my big toe and gave it a good bite. It really hurt. I'm not sure that even with the circus in town we've come any closer to taming his beast, but he tempers all of this with contagious deep belly guffaws and exuberant, generally slobbery kisses. Benjamin often avoids these loving overtures as much as I avoid big toe bites.

Gotta run. I've been informed that Isaac "has mess on his face, NeeMom!" and is headed towards a couch near me!