Only 364 days to go.

Dear James,

The contents of this letter pertain mostly to your acquisition of boo-boos in the past few weeks, and for this reason, it’s really more of an injury report than anything else. On the one night which I was supposed to go out with friends, I received a phone call upon parking my car. It was Jim’s voice on the line, violent screaming in the background.

“Come home, there is blood everywhere. We have to go to the hospital.”

He then proceeded to hang up the phone. By the grace of something very holy, I remained calm, and kept my imagination in check, despite my encounter with the terrible, horrible, worst way in the whole world way of relaying injury information of the phone. But, my thoughts on that should be directed towards your dad. I arrived home to what looked like a crime scene, and you walked me through the scenario at least 4 million times, explaining, where, when, and how you took the toilet directly to the face through teary whimpers and wails. Your two front teeth are already grey and dead, and thankfully, you do not yet have enough cartilage for your nose to break, so it was the bruising that caused the most pain and enabled you to get away with eating popsicles for days. Every single visitor for the proceeding 10 days got a tour of the master bath whether or not they responded yes to your excited “wanna see where I got my boo boo on my face?”

Just a few days ago, while on my bed, you were playing, jump on mom, jump on mom, jump on mom, jump on mom, again, again, again again, through your giggles and my pleas of stop, no more, last time, don’t do it again, that’s the last time, no more, I said stop it, get off my bed, jump on dad instead, ouch that hurts. On jump 1, 456,798, I ducked without thinking and you went flying into the headboard. It was terrible. I didn’t know an earlobe could bruise, but it can, and yours is.

You are really into reading the children’s bible and your favorite story is Jophes (Joseph) and his coat. You asked me if the boys next door are going to take your coat like Joseph’s brothers took his. And you do not understand how God sending frogs to Pharoah was a plague. “Frogs are awesome, though” you explained.

You wake up everyday before 6am and you get out of your bed a zillion times at night, and you would much rather camp out in a tent and fall asleep while screaming the ABC’s. But, you finally started eating broccoli and green beans in less than 3 hrs, so I’m trying to look on the brighter side.

You made me handprints for mother’s day and I love them, even though I said, “thank you for the beautiful leaves.”
Dear Josie,

My sweet baby girl, you are taking the term “terrible two” just a bit too seriously. Two can be nice, just like one was. It doesn’t have to be, I’ll run around naked and refuse to go to bed while flushing objects down toilets, and throwing milk all over the floor and hiding my jewelry and shoes. You were disappointed today when you confused birthday candles for candy because I left you for 35 seconds to put Rita to bed. Almost every time I put her down, you take the cue and make a mess in the pantry. Then you spent 35 minutes, with your brother, trying to sweep the styrofoam from the box in which you found and ripped open the candles. I probably could have helped you, but instead, I watched and enjoyed your determination and persistence. I also folded the laundry. I was unaware that one could develop a deep gratitude for static and styrofoam, but, you can, and I did. Thank you, little one, for working so diligently to clean up your mess. You also got a train stuck in your hair today. It was on and your hair was wild, and when the two elements are combined in a close proximity, a knotty mess is the result. I called Maria to help, because a few weeks ago, her boys purposefully flew a helicopter into her hair, and it was equally as horrifying. I was able to release it, and you only lost a few strands of those beautifully messy curls.

You ask me to rub your back every night, and then, a few minutes later, you sneak downstairs and tell daddy that you want to “watch hockey.” Maybe you do, maybe you don’t, but you know he won’t say no because its adorable and he loves to hold you.

You change your shoes 17 times a day, at least. You can play soccer in every pair.

You ate 7 pieces of cornbread last night.

For mother’s day, you learned how to say, “happy Mother’s day,” and you let me put a bow in your hair.


Dear Rita,

If you could do more than babble, you would say, “crawling is awesome and so is eating all this food that is left on the floor because you can’t sweep the floor more than 7 times a day and James and Josie make more than 7 messes.”

You love eating, and you found the chord behind the fish tank and it is your new favorite and dangerous toy. James scolded you by saying, “don’t be like Dora!!” the girl from finding Nemo who kills all the fish.

You think its safe to go down steps, but it’s not, and I’m pretty nervous about it.

With every new roll in your thighs, your cuteness goes up 100 points.

You tap dance in your bouncy chair in an attempt to imitate your crazy grandma who tap dances every time she sees you.

For Mother’s day, you slept through the night and greeted me all day with a smile. It was awesome.


Dear Jim,

For Mother’s Day, you agreed to running in a military-esq mud run with me, through a mountain that is much better at providing a place to ski. I complained from moment “I’m cold and wet because its 50 degrees and pouring rain,” at mile .1 to “i’m freezing, and muddy, and it’s still pouring rain, and my butt is frozen from sled riding down that mountain without a sled” at mile 7.7. I’d like to say, thank you, and I’m sorry. You hate running, but you did it, and I complained the whole time, and said things I’d never thought I’d say like “Hold me, Cliff,” and “this is worse than diapers,” and “I’d rather be parenting.” It was fun, in the sense that it could have been fun if it were warm and 6 miles shorter, and with fewer rocks and sharp things on which to crawl and take face plants. But, you did it for me, anyway, and never complained once (during). You also sent flowers to the home. The card said “Happy Mother’s Day Virginia.” I know life is crazy with all these babies, so I’ll just gently remind you, my name is Regina. During breakfast, you pretended that 9 children between 2 families, 7 of them boys, and the oldest being 8, wasn’t stressful. Then you made me ribs and wings for dinner. I love you. There is no one with whom I’d rather have the “Itis.”

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