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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another still, small voice.
Does anyone else ever do this? Does anyone else ever battle that still, small voice? No, I don’t mean the still small voice of God. Not that one. (That voice is for embracing, not for battling.) I mean the other voice. The exact opposite, actually. That one that sounds more like, I don’t know, more like myself I guess. Just a really rotten myself. It’s the voice that speaks to you at all the worst moments. At the last minute a friend changes plans the two of you had made. Her reason is completely logical. Her kids are sick or her car is making a weird noise or an unexpected…
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Once Upon A Midnight Weary
Last night we went to bed a little late – visiting with some good friends. (More details on those guys tomorrow.) For now – let’s just focus on last night. Otto was sleeping in a pack and play in Kevin’s office and from our comfortable and warm bed I could hear him crying. The indiglo feature on my old school watch glowed 1:24. “If he is still crying at 1:40, I’ll go get him,” I told my sleepy self. It sounded logical then. I think I might have dozed off. 1:45. Oops. Still crying. Upon further investigation, Otto’s tears were justified. Somehow his sippee cup of water had been opened…
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mmmmm . . . good
Raise your hand if you think a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich makes a delicious lunch.
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Hello Holidays.
This weekend we finally opened our doors to the season surrounding us. (We’re a little slow like that sometimes.) We dug out the fake tree. Again. This year the result of our Fake Tree vs. Real Tree debate has nothing to do with travel plans. Instead, it has lots more to do with the logic presented by a seven year old. London somehow fell on the Fake Tree side of the argument. And she presented three very reasonable arguments for her cause. She articulately stated . . . 1. We already own a fake tree. It’s in the storage shed. It’s already free. 2. You have to water…
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not from envy.
Apparently we’ve been seeing a bit of green around our house lately. But not from envy. Nope. That would be easier to wash out I think. The funny truth is – I was probably not even fifteen feet away from The Incident As It Occurred. (What does that say about me?) Awww. Shucks. I guess it says that I have more than one kid. That one of those kids left the magic markers out again. And that another one of those kids decided it would be beneficial to her younger brother if he were to receive a tattoo. Because, as she stated, he wanted it. In green. All over his…
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Son.
Is it just me, or do I keep stacking up experiences for which I must apologize to my sons? So far the primary victim has been Hawkeye. Apparently, the littlest man of our house is now current game as well. Earlier this week, there was much giggling from the kids’ bedrooms. (All such crimes seem to be accompanied by much much giggling. A warning, I’m sure.) London hops out and spreads her arms wide, “Presenting . . . ” Before I could see the presentation with my own two eyes, London offers an explanation. “It’s hilarious, Momma. Otto can wear all of our dolls’ clothes.” And then the one-year-old fashion…
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Who needs a reason?
I don’t have a reason today to share these pictures. It’s just that . . . I was looking at the photos and this kid is so cute. And I just didn’t see the point in keeping this kind of adorable to myself. Why should I, really? This boy, this oTTo Fox Wilder McDonald, is My Favorite One Year Old Boy. And because he is number six some things are a little different for him than perhaps they might have been for children 1 through 5. He has discovered (and been allowed to hold) markers at a significantly earlier age. Which would, of course, account for the orange marker on…
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candy. corn. candy corn.
Fox’s life is at that age. You know the age. The age of firsts. Firsts that just pile up and up. First Christmas. All Disney-ed out and Mickey Moused. First sand eating experience. All gritty and crunchy. First birthday. All chocolate and cake-y. First self-discovery. All hilarious and revealing. And now he has a new first, thanks to Oma. First time eating candy corn. He waltzed around the house, holding his very own tiny bag. Tossing back those orange and yellow white-tipped wonders like they were candy. Which they were. He was so cute – consuming copious amounts of dyed sugar. It wasn’t until later that I discovered the equally…
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the one in which I eat my own words. again.
Seriously. People do eventually overcome this habit, right? You do grow wiser with age – no? Or must I spend all of my life eating (and then eating again) the very words from my own mouth? Which ones, you ask? Upon which edible assembly of mouth vomit am I swallowing back down currently? These. I uttered this dish so recently that they are still warm from the oven. Still fresh. Still digesting But here’s the deal. I’m not going to have that LASIK eye surgery after all. Not yet, anyway. It’s not that I am not anxious to ditch these contacts and these glasses and this blurry vision. That isn’t…
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Well Lookee Here . . .
I know I cannot share these types of stories forever. And I won’t. I promise. (Really, sons. I promise. I do.) (It isn’t about poop. But it is about body parts.) Wee little man body parts. Today was a big day for our little Otto Fox Wilder. Indeed it was. A day which surely occurs in the life of every young boy, although perhaps is seldom noticed. Kevin lifted Fox up for a hug and a quick ceiling touch. (Otto and Kev play this game. Otto reaches for the sky, points to the ceiling and makes a few grunting noises. Kevin interprets this as his son’s desire to touch the…
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you won’t find it here. (a point, that is.)
I guess this picture is just about perfect for this post. Piper Finn looks a little creepy. Otto Fox looks mostly miserable. (But they are both still sort of cute despite the weirdness and the displeasure.) I’d say that’s a good summation of my day. I should just stop right there and step away from the keyboard. But I can’t. Because that’s not how I roll. Today was a school day. But it was also a day that required a few quick morning errands. A few quick morning errands. Oh, how I laugh at the idea even now. Before the bulk of our real shopping was to begin, Bergen reminded…
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tiny royalty
Otto Fox Wilder McDonald. It’s kind of a royal name – right? I mean, royal in the sense that lots of kings and queens and dukes and duchesses and such have a long series of names – right? Right? Well, this week our family decided that its youngest member needed to be crowned king in a few areas. Like . . . King of Throwing Objects Into the Toilet Objects such as a letter magnet. A wooden block. A stuffed animal. Pretty much, if Fox sensed that a toilet lid was left open anywhere in his vicinity he would rush headlong toward that open hole and try to toss in…
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first.
First time in a sandbox. First time eating sand. First time taking a series of photographs exclusively using the manual settings on my camera. (And you are seeing these sans editing.)
