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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he answered. with a full sentence.
He’s still just such a little man. And maybe it’s because he is Number Six and has no real need to speak at length, but our little Otto Fox Wilder has yet to really begin full-on conversations. Oh – he communicates. And he babbles and has standard inflections and a rhythm to his conversations. But you can’t usually understand very many specific words and he has never yet formed an entire make-sense sentence. Until dinner time last night. There was spaghetti on his plate. A fork in his hand. A cup of chocolate milk by his napkin. Otto began to make bird noises. Like a little cuckoo bird. (From a…
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A walk in the park.
When you’re two and your name is Wilde Fox a walk in the park is never a walk in the park. First, there’s the desire for control. For complete and utter control. The directing and the wishing and the veryvery underdeveloped verbal communication skills. Next comes the demanding and the pulling and the desperate breakdown that gets him almost less than nowhere. Then, ultimately, a measure of submission is reached. A settling of sorts. A coming to terms with reality.
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the sounds of summer.
Summer’s here. And its name is Trouble. Well, sort of. Camp has started. And I feel . . . insane. exhausted. sleepy. unable to properly punctuate my words. I think there is a continual buzzing in my ears of something. Oh wait – that’s the steady sound of my youngest son’s constant displeasure at all things. Like the air that surrounds him. And like every food item I place upon his usually-circular food holder. MmmmHmmmm. That’s the kind of life I am living right now. The kind of life where when I acquired a half hour of quiet time at our home, I retreated to our closet. And spent thirty…
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birthday boy. otto fox wilder.
This weekend, we celebrated our adorable, exuberantly loud, youngest son’s second birthday. And his birthday present was the world’s (okay, maybe just the neighborhood’s) largest-ever sandbox. We’re talking six tons of sand, people. Six tons. Which means we were not only celebrating Fox turning two years old, but also celebrating the last day I will officially know what a sand-free home feels like. So if you are planning a visit to our home soon, bring play clothes. Because you are sure to get messy. ‘ Oh, little Wilde Fox, happy second birthday sweet man.
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no.
Otto Fox Wilder does not say a lot of words. (Which is why I was so impressed this week when he said the names of two of our family’s friends – Walter and Jamal.) But one word he does have an exceptional fondness for is the word “no”. It’s his first response for almost everything. Untitled from Lacey Keigley on Vimeo.
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wilder.
Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for? -Robert Browning
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Name This Photo. Win a Silly Prize.
Growing up, my parents used to always receive this farming magazine in the mail called Farm & Ranch Living. My brothers and I loved the pictures of other farms and of kids who kind of looked like us – wearing overalls and plowing fields and lifting hay bales and feeding calves. And there was this one well-known photograph that seemed to always be featured on their back cover. Man, that magazine exploited this photo to the extreme. There were mugs, hats, t-shirts, calendars, shellacked wood pieces, clocks, bed sheets and car wraps featuring these two little farmers. (Alright – I never saw a bed sheet. Or a car wrap. But…
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a word of advice.
If you happen to be a fellow human living in a home with small children, I think it is my duty to share with you a bit of advice that experience has taught me. Always look inside your cup before consuming said cup’s contents. Recently I was drinking. Enjoying my icy cold water. Sipping, gulping, while I worked tirelessly in the kitchen. Assuming what I saw out of my poor peripheral vision was an ice cube. A creamy looking ice cube? Pause. Investigate more closely. No. No, it was not an ice cube in my glass. Which would be perfectly normal. Completely acceptable. No. It was instead a chunk of…
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The Two Tiniest
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I’m No Videographer or Further Evidence I Need an iPhone or Further Evidence I Need a Nanny
You know, by the mere fact that I post words and seldom post videos, that I am no film maker. You know, by the copious number of times that I have mentioned my desire for an iPhone, that my current cell phone camera is essentially lame, and that, therefore, my videos will not be stellar quality. You know, by all of my previous set-up statements, that I am about to share a sub-par video. My piles of laundry are revealed. My voice sounds quaky. My parenting skills might be questioned. But the funny factor outweighs all of that. The stage is set like thus . . . Bath time for…
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returning …
swimming in the deep end
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… and counting
It has been thirteen days already. And this Fox is still rocking his amazing hat. It is possible we have forgotten what he looks like without it, so attached to this little accessory he has become.
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distraction #42
I am too sick and too tired to be clever. Our home looks a bit like a war zone and we are its casualties. I am grateful to a couple of good friends who stopped by the house with beverages and soups and so many others who have made kind offers. While we rest and get better, just take a look at these shots of our little Wilde Fox of an Otto. Marvel with me at how handsome he is. Admire what a fantastic photographer Emma is and how she captures his quirky little looks. And notice how much Otto adores his hat made by Aunt Sarah. Seriously. He has…
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the last one.
I do not want another baby in our house. Trust me when I say, the Keigleys are done giving birth to babies. I’m not even the type of woman who gets all googly-baby-eyes when she holds someone else’s newborn baby. I mean, I like holding your newborn baby. I like caressing their bitty baby cheeks and admiring their new baby ears. But holding your baby in no way makes me hanker to hold one of my own. I’m done with babies. We’ve had our years (and they have been sweet) but they are over. Nonetheless, something strikes me when I watch the babyness grow right out of my last little…
