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| From September 2008 |
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Humpty Dumpty
This happens at least once a day...
Noah heads out to his small play structure in the front yard. He climbs to the top...only about 3 feet off the ground and straddles the top. You can see him mumbling to himself as he swings his legs back and forth. This goes on for about 10 minutes. Then he slowly climbs down. Appearing to be in deep thought (I think he is "in character") a slow half smile creeps to his face. He holds out both of his hands as if he is carrying something quite precious and walks right up to me. In a quiet, near whisper he says, "Momma...my pieces...Can you put me back together?"
The first time he did this it took me a few seconds to figure it out. Then his favorite nursery rhyme popped in my head. "Oh!! Are you Humpty Dumpty?" "Yes, Momma. Can you put my pieces back?" "Of course" I say as I pretend to replace the pieces.
Too cute. Good thing that the sweet illustrated version we have includes one last page where Humpty stands with a bandaged head, now back together, holding two small pieces in his hands. Happy ending for Humpty in this version. And happy ending for my little Humpty too. :)
Miss you. Love you.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Debandabuba
Just a quick note: Noah loves his Great Grandma.
She is affectionately known as De-band- u -bub - a. A name Laura bestowed on her when she was just a girl. Debands is up north visiting her daughter, and we all miss her. Noah the most.
Sunday morning
Sunday morning.
There is a relatively small foot steadily poking me in my ribs. Thump. Thump. Not mean, not an aggressive kick in the ribs. Just a steady dig.
I glance over in bed to see Noah, deep asleep, jabbing me with his feet. He is now sleeping sideways and I have been relegated to the furthest corner of my side of the bed.
Laura doesn't have much more room on our ever slimming queen size bed. She is 9 months pregnant, due date is in a matter of days. She sleeps, as well.
Noah was in his bed when I drifted off to sleep around 11. But now, without my knowing it, he has crawled into my bed, scooted me to the furthest corner, and has now begun kicking me gently in the ribs.
I move Noah away from me, he scoots immediately closer. I pick him up, ever so gentle for 6:00am, and drop him a foot or two away. He has landed on my pillow and his tiny head is taking up the whole of it.
I allow it. Losing the pillow is worth another 15 minutes or so of sleep. I settle my face into the ever slimming queen size bed and fall back asleep.
Around 6:30am, Noah is not in the bed.
I sit up. He is not in the room. I hop up and round the corner to the living room. He is sitting in the center of the room 'reading' a Curious George book singing softly, "Hi_ho the Dairy-O.... yeah yeah, the farmer and the (inaudible). Wa wa, the hi-ho." It continues.
"Hi, baby." I groggily mumble.
"Dad Da." He doesn't look at me. "I want cereal." He says this gently.
"O.K." I grab the Cherios.
"Dad Da". He climbs his chair. "I want Oheees, and Gorillas and berry crunch."
I pour all three cereals in a small bowl. Cherios. Gorilla Munch (c/o of Trader Joe) and Triple Berry Crunch. He gobbles it down.
We sit and outside the window it is chilly and wet and the sun is starting to dominate. It is really quite beautiful. I do dishes while Noah eats. He asks me many questions during this time, but what's really on his mind it, "Dad? Are you going to work?" "No", I say. "It's Sunday."
After breakfast Noah and I retire to the couch. He brings me book after book. Hippos Go Berzerk and Miss Mary Mack this round.
Later, he slips into his room. He comes back, completely naked.
I ask him if he's ready for a shower and he says yes. But first he asks me to come into his room. He walks me over to the fish tank and asks, "Where's the black one?"
The black fish had a good run, to be sure, but he's no longer swimming among us. I stumble. I change the subject. "Did you see the baby fish?" I say.
He is fixated on the tank where the black fish no longer swims.
"The black fish died." He tells me. "He went to heaven." Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa Hyatt. I talk him into the shower and save the heaven talk for another year. Or several.
In the shower we brush teeth, wash hair, stack cups. We've got it down to an art, really.
After the shower I gather us both up and wrap the boy in a towel. He tosses it aside, as he prefers to air dry. He comes storming into the living room a few minutes later carrying underwear, mismatched socks, a pajama shirt, and a thick pair of jeans. (It is august)
Not much happens for the rest of the morning. We do some dishes. We put books back on their shelf. We do a puzzle. We feed the fish (minus the black one) and Noah spills half the can of fish food. We vacuum it up. That was three hours ago now and he is still concerned that the fish won't have enough later on. "The (fish) food is all gone." He says filled with concern.
It's 10am. I put on some Elliott Smith. I type this blog. Noah reads while I type, but not before coming over and kicking me softly in the ribs.
All in all, an exceptional morning.
There is a relatively small foot steadily poking me in my ribs. Thump. Thump. Not mean, not an aggressive kick in the ribs. Just a steady dig.
I glance over in bed to see Noah, deep asleep, jabbing me with his feet. He is now sleeping sideways and I have been relegated to the furthest corner of my side of the bed.
Laura doesn't have much more room on our ever slimming queen size bed. She is 9 months pregnant, due date is in a matter of days. She sleeps, as well.
Noah was in his bed when I drifted off to sleep around 11. But now, without my knowing it, he has crawled into my bed, scooted me to the furthest corner, and has now begun kicking me gently in the ribs.
I move Noah away from me, he scoots immediately closer. I pick him up, ever so gentle for 6:00am, and drop him a foot or two away. He has landed on my pillow and his tiny head is taking up the whole of it.
I allow it. Losing the pillow is worth another 15 minutes or so of sleep. I settle my face into the ever slimming queen size bed and fall back asleep.
Around 6:30am, Noah is not in the bed.
I sit up. He is not in the room. I hop up and round the corner to the living room. He is sitting in the center of the room 'reading' a Curious George book singing softly, "Hi_ho the Dairy-O.... yeah yeah, the farmer and the (inaudible). Wa wa, the hi-ho." It continues.
"Hi, baby." I groggily mumble.
"Dad Da." He doesn't look at me. "I want cereal." He says this gently.
"O.K." I grab the Cherios.
"Dad Da". He climbs his chair. "I want Oheees, and Gorillas and berry crunch."
I pour all three cereals in a small bowl. Cherios. Gorilla Munch (c/o of Trader Joe) and Triple Berry Crunch. He gobbles it down.
We sit and outside the window it is chilly and wet and the sun is starting to dominate. It is really quite beautiful. I do dishes while Noah eats. He asks me many questions during this time, but what's really on his mind it, "Dad? Are you going to work?" "No", I say. "It's Sunday."
After breakfast Noah and I retire to the couch. He brings me book after book. Hippos Go Berzerk and Miss Mary Mack this round.
Later, he slips into his room. He comes back, completely naked.
I ask him if he's ready for a shower and he says yes. But first he asks me to come into his room. He walks me over to the fish tank and asks, "Where's the black one?"
The black fish had a good run, to be sure, but he's no longer swimming among us. I stumble. I change the subject. "Did you see the baby fish?" I say.
He is fixated on the tank where the black fish no longer swims.
"The black fish died." He tells me. "He went to heaven." Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa Hyatt. I talk him into the shower and save the heaven talk for another year. Or several.
In the shower we brush teeth, wash hair, stack cups. We've got it down to an art, really.
After the shower I gather us both up and wrap the boy in a towel. He tosses it aside, as he prefers to air dry. He comes storming into the living room a few minutes later carrying underwear, mismatched socks, a pajama shirt, and a thick pair of jeans. (It is august)
Not much happens for the rest of the morning. We do some dishes. We put books back on their shelf. We do a puzzle. We feed the fish (minus the black one) and Noah spills half the can of fish food. We vacuum it up. That was three hours ago now and he is still concerned that the fish won't have enough later on. "The (fish) food is all gone." He says filled with concern.
It's 10am. I put on some Elliott Smith. I type this blog. Noah reads while I type, but not before coming over and kicking me softly in the ribs.
All in all, an exceptional morning.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Cereal
Noah,
Let's call today the cereal day.
You were so hungry for cereal tonight. You wanted the one with the bird on it. This is my fault, of course, I never should have picked up that box of Coco Puffs. They were on sale. Two bucks. I couldn't resist. And several mornings back, I shouldn't have given you a bite of the "bird" cereal. Your face lit up like Christmas morning.
Last night you stayed up till 10 p.m.
Watching T.V. with Ella Gale. You were so happy then. I think you watched The Lorax. Are you too young for the Lorax? I don't think so. Well, it couldn't hurt, right?
I've never seen you so upset, son. You were so lost in anger. So enraged. You wanted the bird cereal. Your nose was running. Your face was beet red. Your brow dipped in sweat, your arms flailing.... What a site.
This was a day. And now as I reflect on it, I love you for your individuality, for your spirit, for your drive.
Goodnight. Dream of Coco Puffs, because you'll never see them in our house again.
Let's call today the cereal day.
You were so hungry for cereal tonight. You wanted the one with the bird on it. This is my fault, of course, I never should have picked up that box of Coco Puffs. They were on sale. Two bucks. I couldn't resist. And several mornings back, I shouldn't have given you a bite of the "bird" cereal. Your face lit up like Christmas morning.
Last night you stayed up till 10 p.m.
Watching T.V. with Ella Gale. You were so happy then. I think you watched The Lorax. Are you too young for the Lorax? I don't think so. Well, it couldn't hurt, right?
I've never seen you so upset, son. You were so lost in anger. So enraged. You wanted the bird cereal. Your nose was running. Your face was beet red. Your brow dipped in sweat, your arms flailing.... What a site.
This was a day. And now as I reflect on it, I love you for your individuality, for your spirit, for your drive.
Goodnight. Dream of Coco Puffs, because you'll never see them in our house again.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Dad and Grandpa turn year older; Noah turns year cuter
This past April, Noah sat idly by as his Dad and Grandpa shared a birthday. Although Noah's Dad is no spring chicken, Noah's Grandpa is the one readying himself for the old folks home.
All jokes aside, it was a great night for the Hyatt fam! Lots of old familiar faces stopped by - and Melissa went into labor the very next day.
Happy Birthday Tom (good looking one, left) and Chris (all dressed up in his tank top) Noah (yellow shirt, icy stare) loves you both.!
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