Otto Fox Wilder
There comes a time in every rightly consructed boy's life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure. - Mark Twain
-
today. three years ago.
Today we went on a field trip to Connemara, home of our poet friend Carl Sandburg. (Sherry – can you please tell me again about how I am sort of related to him?) And then we had Book Club this evening. It was an unusually full day of activity. I was pretty prepared for the day, surprising myself with my efficiency. Lunches packed the night before, mainly by London Eli. Quinoa Chicken Taco Soup prepped and slow cooking in the crock pot. (It’s a good recipe – check the Pinterest board. Maybe I’ll write about it one day soon.) Book Club book finished by all three of us. Tonight after…
-
I Can’t Believe I Had To Say This
“Son, I don’t actually mind if you pee in the yard. But – please – don’t pee on the house.”
-
Piper Finn Saves the Day
I hope I never stop thinking these Keiglets are funny. (I hope they never stop being funny. The pressure’s actually on them, not me. Right?) Otto is a collector. (A hoarder if you must.) And he likes little things. Lately he is obsessed with our friend Torrye’s hair clip. It’s an unusual looking black clip that opens and closes in a way that reminds Otto of a spider. He thinks it’s awesome. Luckily Torrye thinks Otto is awesome and she has kindly given him full possession of said clip. Of course he sleeps with it. It traps his cars and his fingers and other people’s fingers and his stuffed animals.…
-
it’s dangerous to think after midnight
Some days I’m convinced that I’m crazy. It’s my own particular brand. I’m hoping we’ve all got our own signature varieties of crazy. At least that’s what I tell myself. To make me feel less crazy. Last night after bedtime I heard Otto calling my name. “Momma!” He was standing by our bedroom door. “I just want to sleep in anyone else’s bed,” he whispered in his raspy nighttime voice, his fingers clutching his dirty blanket. “How about Momma and Daddy’s bed?” I asked. He grinned, surprised at the unusual ease of that exchange, and scooted right up into the center of our giant sagging bed, closed his eyes and…
-
Bergen Hawkeye, HomeLife, Keiglets, London Eli Scout, Mosely Ella Claiborne, Otto Fox Wilder, Piper Finn Willow, Riley Amber
What They’ve Been Up To Lately
Scrambling eggs. Becoming increasingly obsessed with The Lord of the Rings. (Despite the fact that none of our children have ever watched even one of the films.) Saying “happy new year” after every sentence, regardless of appropriateness to the conversation. Speed reading through The Hobbit. Taking her first college level science class, complete with weekly three hour lab. Painting drumsticks red without anyone’s permission. Wearing a Snow White costume on top of her normal clothes. Reading food labels and researching soy lecithin. Attempting to stop sucking her thumb every morning and forgetting about the challenge every evening. Baking Aunt E’s Famous Pizza Dough recipe solo. Creating miniature paper cutouts of…
-
the simple beautiful. some more. and again.
These are the moments that I already know that I will miss. The moments that I wish I had stored up and stacked up higher and better with my first five children. (Five children – has it taken me this many to begin to understand?) The tiny and the tender helpful ways that a three-year-old tries to serve his momma. Otto Helps Oat. It’s beautiful. And I’m grateful that I have eyes to see.
-
happy friday.
I ran this morning! (Thanks Heather!) And since it was at 6 A.M. (!) and it was 29 degrees I think that’s a giant leap toward discipline points – right? Now I have time to type this, tidy up the laundry room and prep a little school for the day. (Or time to go back to bed. Whichever.) Also. Yesterday I called a trash collection place – pretty sure they have a different title than that – and signed us up for the delivery of our very own giant green trash can. Just like all the regular people have. Next week we’ll get to see if hauling it down our…
-
O.T.T.O.
I love how he runs. On the beach. Shirtless. Belly first. Fingers spread wide apart. Hair so blonde it seems colorless. Shiny. Reflective. Full of big boy ideas. And shouts. And clever plans. I could count his ribs but he’s too feisty to catch. His mood changes as rapidly as his feet shuffle across the sand. And I guess it’s because I know he’s my last that I wish he would just slow down.
-
my son will not appreciate this one day.
For a while Otto has been able to write his own name. It’s a pretty simple one – what with all those circles and sticks. It’s always been pretty adorable to me to see him concentrate so seriously and push his pencil forcefully across the paper. (Or the wall. Goodness. Six children. First one to ever put pen to wall is the last one.) And he can also spell it out loud for you. But he’s been slipping a little lately when he signs his name on the page. And – I’ll tell you what – he does not care for being corrected or for being informed of the word…
-
Man Trip 2012
It happens once a year. Or something like that. Man Trip. The last one involved Great Wolf Lodge and a giant tub of cheese balls. Kevin and our friend Tyler and Bergen and Tyler’s son Baylor get together for a little dude time. This year’s man trip didn’t have such a grand destination. In fact, the front yard was about as far as they ventured. But the front yard is plenty far enough when you add a campfire, some hot dogs, s’mores and camouflage. Oh – and when you allow the two younger boy siblings to have their first inaugural Man Trip experience.
-
three is a funny number. and age. more a funny age than number really. three is funny.
You might remember that I think my little Willow is a funny little person. She still is. But lately my boy Otto Fox is giving her a run for her money. (Which leads me to think, maybe it’s not so much the kid as the age. Three is just plain old amusing.) As I tuck Otto into bed most nights I still sing to him his song – “Forever Young”. And he usually requests that I instead sing him the song that apparently he wishes was his song – “Beautiful Boy”. Like I said, he’s three now, and for as long as he has been communicating he asks for the…
-
The Interview Hath Returneth
It has been too long. And I’m not certain if I’ve ever even really tried this stunt with my Wilde Fox of a son. But I used to do a handful of these simple little interviews with my kids. Mainly because it cracked me up so. And since it’s been so long – tonight I’m interviewing my last little man who is quickly morphing into a big boy. Here we go ……. What’s your name? Otto. [He’s sitting in a chair beside me, blanket draped across and over his shoulder – comfort/cape style.] How do you spell that? O-T-T-O. Who do you live with, son? With you guys! [My subject…
-
just so I know
Walking back from the beach one evening, completely unprovoked, and with sincerity, my three year old son says, “When I turn four I am going to turn into a tree frog.” Alright son. Thanks for the heads up.
