Yes, that was it!

(A boy has to process things sometimes.)

As you can see captured below, it's all coming back to me now.

Oh, all the splashing and the kicking and the dancing and the screaming and the

AIRPLAINING I did! I never sat back down again!

(This here is the airplaining.)

A year later, when your strapping son is 16 months old, you pull out the same outfit and dress him in it. Now it is a snugly fitting little romper, suitable for running around at the park and cute as ever. Just like your son.

Voila! You just saved yourself $19.99 and another trip to the Smithsonian. (Even more, if you end up having subsequent children.)

Disclaimer: Information presented here relies heavily on the child following the usual growth pattern, i.e. being a butterball at 4 months and naturally leaning out by 16.

In the ensuing years, I learned that prayer can be lifted from many different positions and in many different circumstances. At the age of eight, I learned that God will hear the sincere prayer of a child, who utters supplications to Him from the top bunk bed with a painful side, mortified that it may be appendicitis. God will hear and the pain will be gone by morning. At eighteen, I learned that God will hear a teenager's urgent prayer as she gazes out into the dark night by an open window, desperately seeking God's mercy for the upcoming Comprehensive High School Graduation Exams (the most difficult exams of my life, including any exams I took in college in the US).

When I left my country and family behind and traveled to the other side of the world, I learned the power of prayer in my everyday life. I learned to seek God in the good times and in the bad. I learned that there is nothing too great or too insignificant for my God. He comforts in trouble, He heals in sickness, He delivers from fear, He imparts peace, He saves from evil, He fills with joy, incredibly joy, He gives wisdom when we ask, He abides with those who prayerfully seek Him.

I hope to impart many things to my children. I hope to be a fun mother, one who laughs, sings and plays. I hope to be an educator, who gently guides toward the unearthing of talents, and the fulfillment of goals and dreams. I hope to be a righteous judge, a compassionate listener, a good counselor. I hope that my son will seek me out for advice as he grows. I hope he always knows his mother's love. At the top of the list, however, I foremost want to be known and remembered by my child as the mother who prayed and taught him to pray. As the mother who took his hand and led him to God.

I hope that in between reminders of "No, we don't eat that" and declarations of "I love you," somewhere in between language learning and music classes and driving lessons, I hope with all my heart that I am successful at passing this most important life skill on to my children, the gift of knowing how to pray.

These dunes were AWESOME! (I could not stop repeating that word while there, just ask my husband.) The size of these dunes just amazed me. Dunes?!? The sand formed actual hills and we had to gaze down at the ocean. The ocean was far, far down below. It seriously looked like we were in a desert, complete with a mirage. We knew going there that they were the tallest/biggest dunes on the East Coast, but we did not expect the awesome stretch of smooth, compacted sand before our eyes. Caleb absolutely loved this place. He walked and ran on the dunes, exhilarated by the wind and the open space.

Here is a video of his windblown run:

In Williamsburg, we enjoyed colonial gambols, a horse-drawn carriage ride, and a full day of amusement at Busch Gardens. Afterwards, we drove down to the Outer Banks, where we visited the site of the Wright brothers' first flight, and I can see why they would choose this location. Wow, the winds! We saw the 1587 English settlement on Roanoke Island, walked the Elizabethan Gardens, and for Caleb's enjoyment, we also checked out the Aquarium. We saw three lighthouses and climbed one of them, Cape Hatteras, the tallest brick beacon in the world. We rode the ferry to Ocracoke Island (Pirate Blackbeard's home), where we browsed pirate shops and dipped our feet into the ocean on 2007's #1 Beach in America. I loved the remote location of this island and its undeveloped beaches (which Blackbeard and his men once also walked!).

Thanks to Caleb, we watched the sunrise each and every morning from our oceanfront room. We swam in heated pools, where Caleb splashed with wonderful excitement, the recesses of his brain probably remembering all the splashing of last summer. In the evenings, we watched the Sun go down over Pamlico Sound while eating dinner. We ate our way through the Outer Banks, predictably, mostly seafood. It was good, but somewhat unimpressive and overpriced, and we decided that next time we should get a house and do the seafood cooking ourselves. We are better at it. (Humility, on the other hand, not so much.)

What I noticed about the Outer Banks is that the further south you travel, the more slow-paced life seems to get. It was quite difficult to make the long drive home after a day of lazy island pursuits. Probably a week of crack-of-dawn wakings didn't help matters, either.

You are 16 months old today. Now that it’s Spring, you have discovered the great outdoors! Though you've been walking since last fall, you’ve not had too many chances to walk OUTSIDE through the winter. So it came as a great big revelation to you this spring that LOOK-SEE, ONE DOTH ALSO WALK OUTSIDE! You have the uncanny ability to hear me open the glass sliding door, and within seconds, you are there. You are euphoric as you walk in and out through that door, over and over, inspecting this marvelous access to this new place, where birds sing and bees buzz, this place where all childhood dreams come true, called a DECK. When you are finished with a thorough study of the sliding door, you undertake a comprehensive study of the deck. From every little plant we’ve planted to every little leaf that’s caught between the boards, to the chipped, old planter and the broom sitting in the corner – everything has to be observed up close.

The BROOM is the most fascinating of them all. One day you watched me sweep the deck. When I was done, you grabbed the broom and imitated what you just saw. Ever since then, every time we’re out there, you make a beeline for the broom and matter-of-factly start sweeping. You have monopolized this task. You seem to think that this is YOUR JOB, your contribution to your family: TO SWEEP. Even when the broom is sitting in the corner, obstructed by large planters, you find a way to get to it, grab it, and promptly begin sweeping. Thanks to you, the deck gets swept several times a week now.

When you sweep, a look of glee and concentration alternates on your face. I can tell exactly what you’re thinking: “This is the best thing that’s happened to me since I discovered MEAT!” If you could talk in full sentences, you would surely demand to be in charge of this important job, the sweeping, oh, for the next 17 years. All you would ask in return is that we add the broom into the will as part of your inheritance. I think that’s a fair deal.

The Deck Adventure is only to be surpassed by another thrilling pastime, the Front Yard Adventure, which involves exploring our front yard in all its detailed glory, including large branches, some of which are three times the length of you. You drag these behind you as you walk and drop them every few feet for a better one spotted just beyond yonder. Our front yard is also a happy place, because it is where you look for your friends, the DOGS, who live two doors down and across the street, and who oftentimes greet you with happy tail wagging and synchronized barks. Some days, I sit on the grass with you listening to the barking, as you hold a stick, wave it in the air, and breathlessly conduct your very own dog choir.

Whenever you realize - usually as I’m putting your sandals on your feet - that we are going on one of our Outdoor Spring Adventures, you almost jump out of your skin, you’re so happy. You don’t know this, but the utter joy you express is enough motivation for me to want to take you out every day. I hope that you’ll always derive this much joy from small pleasures in life.

I am pretty exhausted these days, just trying to keep you out of trouble. You stand up on things that are not meant for standing; you’re climbing on dangerous things; you open every single drawer and cabinet in the house; shall I continue? I read somewhere that all parents of toddlers are generally on a 24-7 suicide watch. I don’t think it’s quite as bad as that, but I have definitely saved you from yourself a few times in the past month.

An unpleasant thing for me lately is how you sometimes maul me during nursing. I know you’re not the only one. All nursing children at your age do it. It helps them let off steam and unwind, I hear. It’s wonderful, dear, that I can help you unwind and soothe yourself by being the object of your affectionate clawing. You know that I love to be of assistance whenever I can, particularly in your quest for tranquility. I’m just wondering: could we possibly try to reach this tranquil state in some other way? Without the squeezing, pinching, scratching, and kicking? I’m thinking it would be much better to have a mutually peaceful moment like we used to have, with your arms and hands resting calmly at your side and your legs lying motionless. Though I must admit that you are very cute when I tell you that you are not allowed to DIG, DIG, DIG and you giggle at the words as you repeat them back to me.

There have been many endearing moments this month. For example, you almost melt my heart with your habit of coming up to me and gently taking a hold of my hair that sits on my shoulders, and carefully moving it to my back. I am not sure why you do this, but it’s really sweet. You also carry the Boppy pillow, stumbling and staggering under its weight through the house, giggling and saying “Bop-py” whenever you want to nurse. Sometimes, when you’re trying to get my attention, you softly say “Ma-ma-ma.” Oh, sweet words! You love to kiss and hug, and gently bite my chin (this is an old favorite making a comeback!). You say “Awwwww” as you hug us. I know that you’ve picked that up from us, as we've always Oohed and Awwed over the fact that you hug us. It appears that we have succeeded in teaching you that a hug is to be doled out with a corresponding “Awwwww” sound.

One day, you bit my cheek, clamping down with your teeth for several seconds. You are teething and your gums are hurting; you clamp down on everything right now, without thinking. When you realized that this had hurt me, you showed such regret: you pressed your mouth to my face and lips repeatedly, kissing me four or five times. Forgiveness is easy when an offender shows such a clear sign of repentance.
     

When Daddy's not around and I need to shower, I usually bring you into the bathroom with me and buckle you into your bouncy seat. When I’m finished with my shower, sometimes I decide that it’s a good time to give you a bath. Every now and then, we take a bath together after I rinse off. Until now, you’ve been content to sit in your seat, chewing on something, awaiting your turn. But in the past week or so, you’ve become proactive about your baths; you let me know that you want and expect a bath every time I shower by working your way out of your seat precisely two minutes after I put you in. As soon as you escape, you come up to the tub where I have just begun showering, pull back the shower curtain, and promptly begin throwing your bath toys into the tub. I must then quickly undress you, whether or not I wanted to give you a bath at that particular time, as water from the shower continues to spray both of us, and bring you into the tub with me (because I can’t have an unsupervised toddler running around on the now dangerously wet floors). Once you’re in, you plop yourself down at the back end of the tub, where you play with your dinosaurs, waiting for me to finish, so you can start your bath already.

Thus, it happened today that I had my 2-minute shower, followed by a compulsory bath. And as we sat in the bathtub together, I was making conversation with you and asked you some questions. You know, instructional questions like where is your foot, which one is the purple dinosaur, and where do we go pee. Because Mama likes to reinforce things you already know. Now, I always knew you to be a funny kid, but today you were a TOTAL RIOT when, upon my customary “Where do we pee?” question, instead of pointing at the toilet or potty like you usually do, you pointed INTO THE BATHTUB.

Tomorrow, we are going on a spring getaway. (Goodness knows, we all need it.) You will get to see the ocean and the North Carolina barrier islands for the very first time. The OCEAN is this great expanse of water, similar to a lake, just much, much bigger. Unlike the lake, though, the ocean is SALTY. (Beware of the salty ocean! It has gotten the best of me on a couple of occasions in the past.) Another difference between the lake and the ocean is that the ocean has WAVES! Large waves that rise up from the ocean and crash on the shore, in a frothy white spray. It’s quite beautiful. To be sure, your father could tell you much more about the ocean and its waves; maybe you should be talking to him. (I’m the expert on lakes.)

We’re really looking forward to taking you. The water won’t be warm enough for swimming, but we’ll be able to take walks on the beach and perhaps dip our feet into the surf. You’ll feel the sand between your toes, you’ll ride on a ferry, and you’ll experience the barrier island winds. I know how you’re exhilarated by winds. There should be winds here like you’ve never seen before. Orville and Wilbur considered this when they chose this location to launch their first flight. (Although the soft sand below for landing was probably not a negligible consideration either.)

I hope you have a good time. Enjoy the wind in your face, the sand between your toes, and the salty ocean waves. And have a happy outdoorsy 16 months, Cakes!

Love,

Mama

We were going to attend a FairTax Rally yesterday, but by the time we finished working and re-working the numbers this way and that, looking at the numbers with the option of filing jointly or separately, we were spent. The numbers remained unchanged and they sucked all life from us.

For the second year in a row, we've skipped the tax accountant and did our taxes ourselves. We figured we can apply our brain cells between the two of us to decipher the US Tax Code with the help of a nifty little software called TurboTax and in the meantime, save ourselves a pretty bundle on tax preparation fees. And those fees were the ONLY money we saved.

So now we're ready for vacation. We need a Tax Break (as opposed to a Spring Break). Though it's going to take more than a week to get over the number that showed up on our screen under the words FEDERAL TAX DUE.