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
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Awkward
Overheard while standing in the laundry room . . . Piper: Otto, hey – let’s put our bellies together. Otto: [silence] [apparent acquiescence] Giggles. More giggles. Exuberant giggles. Piper: That was awww-kward.
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Diaper Free Days Are Ours!
Guess what we no item we no longer purchase and stick in our grocery cart? Diapers! Guess what daily routine is no longer mine? Changing diapers! Yes. The last little Keigley baby man is completely potty trained! We’re talking no diapers. No night time pull ups. No anything except the cutest little boxer briefs covering the cutest little boy bum. It’s amazing, really. This change in our lives. This transition. This spending no budget money on catching and containing kids’ excrement. It’s glorious. And that’s true for every family that moves right from daily diaper changes to bathroom freedom. And for us, for this family, it’s been a daily habit…
Keep Reading . . .
my social dilemma
that magic moment
Five Finds Friday (teen drivers. the first egg.)
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if you were wondering . . .
Yes. We do have enough children to play our own birthday party games together. But sometimes we invite a pal over anyway.
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happy birthday son.
“What do you want to do on your birthday Otto?” “Hunt crickets.” Happy birthday three.
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in the gallery
On her own, all the time, London draws. She holds her pencil contrary to the way in which I showed her in kindergarten. But like so often in her eight years, she has discovered her own way to approach a task and she has mastered it in that unique manner. This time, her pencil captured Otto Fox Wilder and all the treasures that matter to him. And I could not have done better. This I know.
Keep Reading . . .
hi.
five finds friday (mustaches & embroidery)
five finds friday: at home edition
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Fox and the Great ‘Ricket Round Up
This one. My last. And yet somehow a new beginning. He sleeps with twelve or more matchbox cars under his pillow. When he finds a blue truck that has escaped its under pillow hideout, he scoops it up and laughs. He reaches under the pillow, stashes it safely and pats the hard collection he’s got going on. He’s a little obsessive. Along with the hoarding, you know. Right now he’s all about “rickets”. Which are actually crickets. Which are actually grasshoppers. And he’s been spending his days combing the field in pursuit of the camouflaged creatures. He’s relentless – he is. With a little help from his sisters and…
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the early stages of a TLC television program
There must be something about the style of parenting that Kevin and I employ at this house. I don’t know exactly where to point the finger. But it appears that with our last two children, we are creating hoarders. Finn has spent four years obsessed with carrying things. Piles of things. Little things. Soft things. Unimportant things. Stashed in homemade bags. Loaded into her metal grocery cart. (Perhaps the grocery cart purchase only added fuel to the fire.) And now her teeny tiny brother is following her lead. The kid hoards everything. He’s not even that particular about his stash – the rules seem to be simple. 1. The items…
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Wilde Words.
Maybe it’s because he’s my baby. Or maybe it’s because he’s legitimately adorable. (That’s the one I’m going with.) But lately it seems that Otto has become the golden child at our house or something. There isn’t a human being residing under this green-shingled roof that is not completely in love with the two-year-old who stomps up the steps in hand-me-down black cowboy boots while wearing plaid leg warmers on his arms. Remember how he was pretty much a completely non-verbal family member? (The only one of his kind, as a matter of fact.) And remember how I decided to not be worried because I knew it would all work…
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rule 62 of the handbook no one has written.
There ought to be a rule. Number 62 in the parenting handbook or something. Any words muttered by you or your spouse between the hours of midnight and six a.m. cannot be held against you. The world seems dark and the situation seems dire when your two-year-old son wakes up at three thirty-six a.m. His room is upstairs. Your room is downstairs. Your bed is warm. The covers are tight. The hallway is long and the steps are cold. You lie in bed and pretend you just don’t hear him, hoping your spouse will take this round for you. It’s an absolutely unfair advantage when said crying two-year-old chooses to…
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more than it seems.
It might look like a basic five gallon bucket to you. But to one small boy, this bucket is all he needs. Astride this orange beauty, he’s a barrel rider, a cowboy, a race car driver. Once he hops off his trusty steed or jumps out of the driver’s seat, he turns the bucket right side up and begins to go fishing. Any stick and any string will do. A belt tied to a lincoln log. A sister’s hair band wrapped around a drumstick. And when it’s time to come to dinner after a long day on the range and a few hours at the fishing pond and several laps…
Keep Reading . . .
five finds friday (what do you wear with leggings?)
Oh hi. It’s me.
sunday matters.
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And He Speaks His Name . . .
My littlest man has been slow to speak. It’s just not his thing. So when I was changing his diaper the other day and he suddenly said a word that sounded exactly like his own first name, I ran for the phone right away. I had to shoot a quick little video to send to Kevin so he could share in the magical moment. OttoSpeak from Lacey Keigley on Vimeo. Now that he can say his own name, Otto is all about himself. In fact, his name is now apparently the answer to any question a stranger may ask him. “Hi, little fellow,” says the man at the check out…
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In Praise of the Wilde One
Otto Fox Wilder is definitely the baby of a family of six children. He has about three mothers and each of those moms has a distinctly different parenting style. But this little man is endlessly entertaining lately. He’s still loud, but he’s funny. He sings along with music we play. Right now his favorite tunes apparently are “Pirate’s Gospel” and Mumford & Sons “The Cave”. He tells the same joke over and over. It goes like this – “Dada!” (Wait for Daddy’s response.) “Ha.Ha.Ha.” Still no progress in the potty training department. (Although being the sixth child, I have learned that, for our house, rushing that skill is not the…
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the cute face.
Believe it or not, this is the face he makes when he says, “Awwww. So cute.”
