The Wiltbanks

Only Fitting.

2011-07-22T09:37:00.000-07:00

When I had my first child, I swore I would not over-buy clothes. I promised myself (and Brad) that the clothes would not overtake the closet. I promised myself that I would buy only as many clothes as the kid could wear in two weeks or so since, if I haven't done laundry in more than two weeks, then the problem is really my laundry-doing habits.

When I had a second child - especially since it was another he, to match our first he - I made the same promise. Here, it got a new caveat: I wouldn't buy too many new clothes for Pierce, since he has all of his brother's in-good-condition, only-recently-worn, was-cool-enough-to-spend-money-on-then-so-it-should-still-be-cool-enough clothes. And, again, generally I stuck to it. Pierce got a nifty, new bring-home-from-the-hospital outfit and some new stuff for holidays, but generally, he's wearing what his brother wore. This has led to two phenomena.

Phenomena 1. Telling apart baby pictures of the boys is harder than it should be. My boys aren't identical, but they're definitely siblings, they're both boys, they're in the same house, with the same backgrounds, in the same positions, and wearing the same clothes. I have, on more than one occasion, looked at the date of the photo to definitively determine which of my darling children I'm gazing at.

Phenomena 2. Watching my kids grow out of stuff. It blows me away that they can wear something one day and it fits; then, a little more than a week later, it doesn't. Suddenly, Colin's pants are too short or Pierce's shirts become midriff-baring (like Gus from Cinderella). It's hysterical to watch my kids grow out of something. They do it because they're growing. They're literally changing shape. Amidst all the jumping-on-couches and chicken-nugget-eating, they're finding time to make more cells and grow up. Literally. I haven't grown up (as in: the direction) in a long, long time. But these kids do it all the time. They're champions about it, too. I remember growing pains (the actual physiological pains, not the show), and they hurt. So next time Coco's a little naughty, I might cut him a little extra slack. For Heaven's sake, the kid is busy with cell replication, bone expansion, gray-matter growth, and mastering his 6-foot jump shot. The least I can do is credit him with multi-tasking and ease up on my requests not to play with the water dispenser on the fridge. Since growing-up is exactly what helped him reach the water dispenser in the first place.

Adult Conversation.

2011-07-21T13:55:00.000-07:00

Now that I have a little more time on my hands, people have advised me to be sure to take time to myself, keep hanging-out with grown-ups, and have some "adult conversations." Apparently, this is the antidote to getting bored. I'm sure the advice is wise, but it entertains me for two reasons.

Reason 1. Adult conversations sounds like my friends and I will sit around and have x-rated discussions. I'm more willing to have a "conversation with adults" than an "adult conversation."

Reason 2. This morning, Colin says to me, "Mom, Io is one of Jupiter's big moons, but the biggest moon is Ganymede." To me, discussions about the Galiliean moons qualify as "conversation with adults," even if it is with my three-year-old son.

My New Job.

2011-07-20T09:04:00.000-07:00

So, up until June 10th, I was working. And now, I'm not. Truth be told, I still feel kind of discombobulated and funny about it. Not having to be anywhere by 8am (and, if you're a former co-worker reading this, then, granted, 805am) still feels like being truant. Most days, I honestly like I'm getting away with something to not have to be answering any calls or checking my email all the time.

But the upgrade is outstanding. Colin and Pierce are the two coolest bosses. Their work day starts late - around 10am. And we get a siesta everyday. It's like working in Spain, except I speak the language better.

Perhaps because I gave so much notice to my boss (over a month) or perhaps because my last day overlapped with the last day of schools around here, but as I wound up my job, I kind of felt like I was gearing up for summer vacation. The whole concept of a "summer break" with my kids was so delightful, I could hardly stand it. And while my kids actually are delightful, the summer weather isn't.

I'm not sure who's right in this whole climate debate. Misters Gore and DiCaprio make a compelling case in An Inconvenient Truth, but probably, so could anyone who had a million-dollar budget. When I lived in Las Vegas, the concept of global warming made more sense and seemed more applicable, since you know, it's like a thousand degrees there. All the time. It's fun to blame something for how hellacious Las Vegas is. Like, somehow, it would be an awesome place to be if it weren't for that darn global warming. Las Vegas residents everywhere probably all think, "Man, if only there weren't global warming... then, it would be 80-degrees here." Like Las Vegas is really San Diego but with more global warming.

Here, though, not so much. Yesterday, during my summer vacation, the boys and I bundled up against a 57-degree day. Colin stepped outside in jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt, took one look at me, and said, "Mama, it's cold. Can I put on more sleeves?" And since we had no where specific to be (only Petco, to see the parakeets) and since we didn't have to be there by 8am, I said yes. So back inside we went. Because this new job rules.

Getting His Gloves On.

2010-12-16T09:49:00.001-08:00

It's the darnedest thing.

You put them to bed, looking like an angel...

and they wake up...

looking like Mike Tyson.

Who knew?

His Gratitude Knows No (Geopolitical) Bounds.

2010-12-13T13:42:00.000-08:00

Every night, before bed, Colin says a prayer. I provide the template ("Heavenly Father, we're grateful for...") and he does the rest. Sometimes, it's sweet. Sometimes, it's jibberish. But it's always funny.

On Saturday night, Colin's prayer went like this:

Heavenly Father, we're grateful for...

Mama (the woman who nurtures and cuddles him)

Mom (the woman who lets him jump on the couch like a trampoline)

a bone that glows in the dark (referring to his glow-in-the-dark skeleton pajamas)

bones that glow in the dark (again, the pajamas, but how's that for subject-verb agreement?)

that Mama has 31 years

Greenland

Baby Pierce

Teeth

So, there you have it. In the Wiltbank house, there's a lot to be thankful for. And at least two of us are grateful for teeth (Colin as he uses them; Brad as he preps and fills them). And at least one of us (me) is grateful that Pierce doesn't have any... yet.

Pierce: Quality over Quantity.

2010-11-23T15:58:00.000-08:00

I am a youngest child. And, when I had my first child, my mom sent me every baby photo of me. To oldest children, this probably sounds like an onerous task. But not for my mom. Because, remember, I'm the youngest. I think there were about 25 photos, which represented my first five years.*

* Which was totally fine by me because, in reality, these were not my finest five years.

So, I was afraid I would do to Pierce what happens to all subsequent children - that fewer photos would be taken of him than were taken of Colin. And that's probably true. Probably, we do have fewer photos of Pierce than of Colin.

But, woo boy, what Pierce lacks in quantity, he makes up for in quality. Look at this kid!

Oops! We did it again.

2010-11-02T11:28:00.000-07:00

Meet Pierce. He arrived safely in May and has been lighting up our lives ever since. He's sweet and funny and, in an effort to stay competitive, just as chubby as his brother. His hobbies include eating, sitting up, rolling over, blowing spit bubbles, and coo-ing. His dislikes include being alone and the crib.

Colin likes to speak on Pierce's behalf, but the ventriloquist act is pretty limited. It usually goes something like this:

Me: "Colin, what does Pierce say?"

Colin: "I want some milk, Mom."

How is Colin handling being a big brother? Here's the scene from last night. I asked Colin if he wanted another little brother or little sister. Colin firmly, emphatically, and loudly rejected my offer. I asked him why he was was so against another sibling, and he said, "Coco doesn't want another brother. Coco wants Pierce!" So, there it is: all three of us really like having Pierce around. Welcome to the team, Pierce!

VH-1: The Early Years.

2009-03-24T13:59:00.001-07:00

Here's Colin - playing with this favorite toy:

And here's Colin - getting ready for his very own "Behind the Music":

Get your DVRs ready!

Monkey Suit.

2009-03-24T13:36:00.000-07:00

I like that Colin is a baby. I like that he only has two teeth, I like that he kicks his legs when he's excited, and I like that he can get away with wearing pajamas all day. But every once in a while, it's good to break the monotony of hanging-out in pajamas and get a little dressed up. Wearing uncomfortable-but-cool clothes teaches Colin an important lesson: fashion over function.

Take hats. Hats are often made from yarn, and yarn isn't always soft. In fact, it's often itchy. So, this winter, Colin had to endure a bit of an itchy head in an effort to stay warm. That is, till he grew into this gem:

It's soft, it's warm, and it looks like a sock monkey. Hats don't get cooler than this.

We owe a lot of Colin's warmth on walks to Lorraine, who stayed up all night, knitting him this hat. It's entirely her own creation. Based on the compliments this hat generates, if Lorraine ever gets tired of lawyer jokes, she could start mass-producing these bad boys. When Vera Wang asks for a Lorraine Hoffman monkey hat for her little Josephine, Lorraine will know she's arrived. By then, Colin's monkey hat will be vintage, and he can sell it to pay for college.

The Host with the Most.

2009-03-24T13:19:00.000-07:00

While I was pregnant, I did what other pregnant women do - I attended classes. Lots and lots of classes. Classes about me, classes about the kid living in my studio apartment, classes about how to evict the kid, all kinds of classes. They covered all kinds of different topics, but they all had one thing in common - they were epicly long and very, very boring.

I decided that the only antidote to these odious classes was a friend. Since I wouldn't have any friends left if I took one of my existing, not-pregnant friends, I knew I had to make a friend in the class. I thought it would be tough. Until I got to the first class, and I spotted Johanna. She was adorable, funny, and signed up for all the same classes I was. We signed a friendship agreement, settled ourselves in for the long haul of learning exactly what we got ourselves into, and compared vital statistics. We were both having boys, were due within 2 weeks of each other, and we both knew the pain of moving mid-way through a pregnancy. Unfortunately, I had just moved, and Johanna was getting ready to move.

Nonetheless, Johanna and I keep in touch, and, while she was visiting Seattle recently, our little boys got to meet each other. I don't mean to oversimplify the complexity that is a personality, but our boys can be summed up thusly:

Edison: adept in all things physical; good at rolling over and crawling

Colin: perfectly content to sit around and watch basketball; enjoys food

But when they met, it was like mother, like son: Colin clearly wanted to be Edison's friend. How do I know? Because as soon as he saw him, Colin grabbed Edison's cheeks and gave him a kiss.

You can't teach skills like that.

The Emperor's New Clothes.

2009-03-24T12:57:00.000-07:00

Colin has been given a number of great presents in his short life. I can't begin to thank everyone who has kept him warm, well-dressed, and entertained. Despite knowing I'm setting myself up for failure, I actually try to do exactly that: thank everyone. So here's another shout-out. This one is for Hanley.

One of my favorite parts of giving gifts to babies is that you can pretty much buy whatever you want, knowing that it'll get used eventually. You know, when he "grows into it." My delightful friend, Hanley, who I love and to whom I owe an email, was probably thinking just that when she purchased a slammin' pair of shoes for Colin. But Colin has a secret shame that is about to be made very public: he has hilariously fat feet.

It's as though Colin somehow inherited my super-swollen-by-pregnancy feet and ankles. But kept them. Long after I wasn't pregnant. They're that fat.

I don't mean 50th-percentile fat. Or has-to-wear-wide-shoes fat. I mean no-retailer-carries-shoes-like-this fat. Indeed, there is no shoe or sock in Colin's size that has come close to covering his feet. He has broken through elastic on socks, and lace-up shoes - even without the laces - are pointless. And his feet aren't just wide. They're also tall. So, even if some super-high-end cobbler made extra-wide shoes for the big-footed infant, they wouldn't be tall enough to help Colin. That is, till Hanley.

Hanley thought she was buying a pair of shoes for the walking-around version of Colin. For a one-year-old toddler, who needs his feet to toddle, and whose one-year-old feet fit into a one-year-old's shoes. Instead, what she really bought was a pair of high-enough, wide-enough, yet-still-totally-adorable shoes for my otherwise shoeless son. So, now, Colin gets to enjoy having his feet covered.

His face says he's still getting used to it, but his feet couldn't be happier.

Colin x 2009.

2009-01-24T14:27:00.000-08:00

While the adults rang in 2009 getting sore from Wii boxing, Colin got close to a cute, younger girl.

Meet Ava.

Looking Cute in Hats.

2009-01-24T14:22:00.000-08:00

A friend of ours made Colin some winter caps. It may seem wasteful for an infant to have more than one hat, but have you seen how cute Colin looks in hats?

He looks so cute in hats, it makes me wish he had more heads.

Immodesty in Las Vegas.

2009-01-24T14:16:00.000-08:00

Turns out, it's not just the girls who show skin in Las Vegas.

Colin arrived like this:

But left loving to do this:

Christmas.

2009-01-24T13:51:00.000-08:00

We spent Colin's first Christmas as a (very small) family. On Christmas Eve, Colin got to open one present. He chose this one, from his Grandma Gini and Grandpa Dave. The reward for being smarter than the box? A divinely soft chenille snowman, which kept the 14" of snow we got company.

On Christmas morning, Colin took his first plane ride - to Las Vegas, to spend the rest of the holiday with my family. It was a really turbulent flight. On one side of Colin was me - holding my head, closing my eyes, and trying to imagine what it felt like not to be queasy. On the other side, a poor, poor woman whose imagination wasn't as good as mine, who was throwing-up in the appropriately-named bag that the airline gave her. But Colin loved the plane ride. As far as he was concerned, his dad gave him a 45-minute pony ride on his knee. Colin wants to fly more often.

While we were in Las Vegas, Colin hung-out with his Grandpa Steve, his JoJo, and he got to meet his Uncle David and cousin Ellie.

Proper Sleep Attire.

2009-01-24T13:47:00.001-08:00

Learning the art of sleeping in over-sized t-shirts.

Thanksgiving (in redux).

2008-12-15T14:33:00.000-08:00

Some people don't update their blog because they're very, very busy. I don't really have an excuse, so rather than bore you with non-excuses, I'll jump right in on a long-procrastinated account of Colin's comings-and-goings.

We spent Thanksgiving in Portland with Brad's family. Colin filled his time thusly:

Visiting friends. This is Colin's friend, Scottie Worth. Scottie asked Colin to stay at his house and sleep in his "down bed" (lower bunk). Scottie seemed really into the idea till he held Colin. Once he got a feel for how much Baby Colin weighed, he retracted his offer to be roommates.

Going on doggie-back rides. This wild beast belongs to Colin's Uncle Rob and Aunt Carla. The ride was short-lived. It ended as soon as Dori (the dog) got distracted by some of Colin's cousins.

Playing with his grandmother. This pop-up toy (from the 70s) was such a hit, we came home and bought him the 2008 version, which is surprisingly not different.

Being cute.

Playing with his Uncle Kent and Aunt Amy.

And learning to play the piano.

Not on the list: sleeping. At least, not till the very end of the trip. While the family met for a very long, very noisy birthday lunch for Brad, Colin did this:

Mug Shot.

2008-12-15T14:31:00.000-08:00

Here's Colin's most recent mug shot. Enough said.

The Ultimate in Color Coordination.

2008-12-15T14:25:00.000-08:00

This is a shout-out to Anne, who got Colin* this nifty little get-up. Here's what great about this outfit:

1. It's adorable. I mean, just look at it.

2. Anne had the good sense to get a 5-month-old baby an outfit for a 9-to-12-month-old child. She must have read up on Colin's most recent weigh-in.

3. Although Anne has never seen our house, our new couch, or the throw pillows purchased to match the new couch, the outfit she bought is the ultimate in color coordination. Throw in Colin, and you've got a splendid package.

* For those interested, Colin is looking at the TV. Specifically, he's watching "Gilmore Girls." He and I did so much watching of Gilmore Girls while I was on maternity leave that he knows Lorelai (Lauren Graham)'s voice and watches her intently. The boy's got taste.

Photofunia.

2008-12-03T11:56:00.001-08:00

I finally found displays worthy of Colin's cuteness.

A billboard:

A museum installation:

His own community-access channel:

(My thanks to www.photofunia.com for jumpstarting Colin's modeling career.)

What Statistics Really Mean.

2008-11-15T16:17:00.000-08:00

Colin had his four-month check up on Friday.

I've never fooled myself. I know Colin is big. Like, really big. I think this because strangers on the street will stop us and say things like, "Wow, he's big. Like, really big."

But on Friday, I found out exactly how big. He is 26 1/4" long and 19.2 pounds. That's the 89% and the 96%, respectively. I took it in stride at the moment. "Sure," I thought. "Ninety-sixth percentile. Who isn't?" But then I got home and realized exactly who isn't: 99 people in 100 aren't in the 96th percentile. And then I got to thinking about what those statistics really mean.

If there were 100 babies in a room (and let's be honest: that's a lot of babies), and someone patiently lined up all 100 babies in descending order of weight, Colin would be the fourth baby to be lined up. The fourth! He'll fall asleep waiting for the other 96 babies to be organized. And by the time the job's done, he'll be ready for snack.

If you're the 4th-heaviest baby in the room (or, if it makes you feel better, the 96th-lightest), raise your hand!

Shout-out.

2008-11-15T16:10:00.001-08:00

This entry serves as a shout-out to Maren, who bought Colin this totally rockin' Nike leisure suit.

In addition to being super cute, the outfit is functional, too. See, Colin is commonly mistaken for a girl* and, despite Serena Williams' lucrative endorsement deal, nothing says "boy" like Nike.

* Brad thinks that it only happens if the person asking has a daughter. I think it's more widespread. I think it happens because Colin is super-naturally pretty.

The Music Man.

2008-11-15T15:46:00.000-08:00

Colin's been standing more and more, and we thought he'd dig being in a standing position while playing. So, Brad and I took the plunge and bought him an exer-saucer. The exer-saucer we bought has a music-playing, push-button (for lack of a better word) device. It has five buttons, all with an animal's picture on it. The first time you hit a button, it mimics the sound the animal makes. The second hit gives you the name of the animal in English. The third - the animal's name in Spanish. On the fourth, it plays classical music (or totally non-classical music made to sound classical, in the case of the cow playing "Old McDonald Had a Farm").

Colin has loved music since he was born, and he's a huge fan of not the exer-saucer as a whole, and not that particular device, but that particular device while playing music. When music is playing, he's happy as a clam.

When music isn't playing, this happens.

After getting sad enough often enough, Colin is now expert at slapping the button three times really fast, all while grimacing. After the fourth hit, when the music starts, he's super-psyched. (He has yet to play with any of the other toys.)

"Jeans" is a dirty word.

2008-10-28T11:09:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, my mom went back to Las Vegas. While she's gone, she left her cold behind. On Sunday, Colin went from a blissfully sweet baby boy to a total fuss-budget. He fussed and squirmed his way through Sunday and Sunday night, and, on Monday, when I ought to have been dropping him at a friend's house (our nanny was out of town), I decided to call in and work from home. If Colin was that fussy for me, there's no way he'd be keen on being at a strange house with someone that he's only met 15 times.*

* Colin is a like a short-term amnesia patient. He's "met" Jenn 15 times, every Sunday of his life. But his memory is so short that every Sunday is like meeting her for the first time.

Colin ended up doing better for most of the day. Until Monday night. He fell asleep on the couch next to me, so I picked him up and plunked him in bed. Usually, mid-sleep, he'll wake up, squirm, stretch, grunt, and go back to sleep. After twenty minutes or so, he woke up, squirmed, stretched, grunted, and then began to cry. And cry. And cry some more. He might have doubled his lifetime crying total in one night.** He was nearly hysterical for about 15 minutes, and I was totally befuddled. It wasn't his hungry cry, not his diaper cry, not his gassy cry, nothing. It was a new brand of hysterical crying. As a last ditch effort, I laid him down on the changing table to see if it was his diaper. As soon as I took off his jeans, he stopped crying. Like, the instant the jeans slipped off his legs, he stopped. Not only stopped crying, but started smiling. All that fuss over sleeping in jeans? Brad said that any kid would fuss over sleeping in jeans, but he fell asleep in them, so how bad could they be? And stayed asleep for a while before he decided they were (apparently) crazy uncomfortable. I have decided that it wasn't the discomfort, but the color. Colin's an observant kid, and I think he decided that he doesn't like the lighter rinse jeans. "It's 2008!" he's screaming at me. "Get me some dark rinse jeans!"

** Colin, being the easy kid he is, had probably only cried for two hours total prior to this incident. So, sure, I exaggerated a bit, but not by much.

Trying to see the silver lining in all this, I decided that we must be good parents because I have never heard Colin cry like that over his honest necessities - he's never been so deliriously hungry that he cried like that. He's never been so soaking wet that his diaper doubled his body weight. So, for Colin, the only thing worth truly crying over is jeans. His life must be pretty good.

Colin's Big Weekend.

2008-10-21T10:16:00.000-07:00

Colin got blessed at church this weekend. It was a big to-do, with family up from Las Vegas and from Portland. Here's a recap of his big day.

He woke up, and he was a little nervous.

But then he had something to eat. While his hand was his first choice, he eventually settled on milk.

Then, he spat it up.

So he did some exercises to get his mind off things.

Turns out, it was nothing to be nervous about. Brad did a lovely job, and Colin had a great time, and they both looked great while doing it!

The Sweater Post.

2008-10-15T19:17:00.001-07:00

For those who know me well, you know my unending appreciation of sweaters, especially cardigans. I am pleased to announce that Colin has inherited my love of fine knits and is the proud owner of many a sweater. This one, though, deserves special note.

It's not just that he looks dapper in it, but that's a nice perk. This sweater is special because it's Colin's first custom-made article of clothing. Some people never get a custom-made piece of clothing. Others may have to wait years. But not Colin. He only had to wait three months.

One of Brad's patients* made this sweater for Colin, and we're really grateful. From yarn selection to the buttons, it was all chosen especially for him. It's a great memory for us, and a great sweater for Colin. Many thanks!

* Names have been changed to protect the innocent. And by "innocent," I mean Brad. No HIPAA violations here!

Lucky 13.

2008-10-12T19:03:00.000-07:00

This was an especially good week to be Colin's mom. I got to watch him be this cute all week.

Colin: Big and Small

2008-10-12T18:43:00.000-07:00

Occasionally, I see a photo like this one

and I think was a sweet, tiny, delicate bundle Colin is.

Then I see a photo like this one

and I change my mind. Still sweet; not tiny.

Twins.

2008-10-12T18:31:00.001-07:00

When I was first pregnant with Colin, Brad said he wanted it to be twins. While the thought of a two-for-the-price-of-one pregnancy was somewhat appealing, buying two of each baby item wasn't. So, I, for one, was grateful for a single baby. However, Brad's hankering for twins must not have gone away because, when I got home on Thursday night, this was waiting for me:

Beyond realizing that Colin has clearly outgrown his three-month onesies, we took another lesson from all this: with the plunging neckline, Colin looks like he's on his way to ballet lessons. Maybe I'll get a prodigiously talented son after all.

Acting Casual.

2008-10-05T13:18:00.000-07:00

We couldn't decide on just one caption for this photo, so we present:

a) Colin's first attempt to get close to a girl. Not Amber, but the 29-week-old one just under Colin's elbow.

b) Colin's entry for an "Acting Casual" contest.

c) "So, guys... what's up? You like stripes?"

A Week-by-Week Guide to Colin

2008-10-01T10:39:00.000-07:00

Since Colin was already 9 weeks old when we started his blog and because I was totally remiss in posting during the last couple of weeks, we have decided to play a game of catch-up. Following is some of what you've missed by not living with Colin during the last 12 weeks.

Newborn: calm, quiet, and peaceful.

1 week old: Colin's first photo shoot. He slept through the entire thing and still wound up looking cuter than 99% of people.

2 weeks old: Colin meets his JoJo. While she was here, I spent my first time away from him. I was gone for four hours; he slept for three hours and forty-eight minutes of it. According to my mom, his first twelve minutes away from me were successful.

3 weeks old: He’s enjoying his time at home. He is calm and quiet. We go on walks nearly every day; he generally falls asleep on his dad’s chest each night. They fill each other’s cuddliness.

4 weeks old: Colin tried to smile all week but didn't quite get it. Watching him practice was hilarious. Having met Grandma Gini when he was only a few days old, he also met his Grandpa Dave, aunts, uncles, and cousins in Portland.

5 weeks old: Colin smiles for the first time. But not for the camera. The boy's got opinions about cameras.

6 weeks old: Attends the Evergreen State Fair. While there, he watched 6-week-old pigs race. They've already been trained to run around a track for their food; Colin can barely see 18” in front of him. After the fair, he gets his first taste of ice cream when I get a drop of ice cream on his pacifier. He didn’t exactly say so, but he seems to like it. He also caught sight of the Team USA v. Argentina basketball game during the Summer Olympics and couldn’t take his eyes off the screen (we think he’s a Chris Paul fan). Last, despite many beautiful homemade and store-bought blankets that are fine candidates for a security blanket, Colin makes his official pick: a dishtowel.

7 weeks old: Colin takes his first bottle during sacrament meeting from a friend in the ward. He took to it like a champ. No questions asked, so long as there’s food. He also started coo-ing.

8 weeks old: He gets his first cold. He’s a trooper and suffers through it beautifully. We could only tell he was sick because of his runny nose and his Darth Vader-esque breathing while he ate. He also starts with the nanny while I go back to work.

9 weeks old: Begins using his “infant gym.” He learns cause-and-effect really quickly, figuring out how to make the music and lights go off by kicking. He owns that infant gym. He's also getting better and better with his hands. His motions are more controlled, and he’s able to grasp items that catch his interest. He’s also able to save his binky if it’s falling out of his mouth, though, usually, his uncoordinated swats are the reason the binky is falling out in the first place.

10 weeks old: The raspberries and the spit bubbles. Oh, the raspberries and the spit bubbles!

(thanks to Aunt Becki for this great photo)

11 weeks old: Colin gave projectile vomiting a try. After two days, he decided he didn’t like it anymore. He also gets his 2-month check-up. Official stats: 16.1 pounds (93% for weight) and 24 1/2 inches (79% for height).

12 weeks old: Despite his girth and his double-digit age, a Sunday afternoon walk is still enough to tire him out.

Master Archer? Probably not.

2008-09-20T14:29:00.000-07:00

Colin is a tremendously easy baby. He's so easy that we can tote him along on all our errands and to friends' houses, and he happily hangs-out, listening to what's going on and contributing with various coos, gurgles, snorts, and growls. After nearly 11 weeks like this, I was starting to think that, maybe, Colin was really something special. Not just special, but, like, really remarkable. Like maybe he'd talk especially early or discover a prodigous ability in math (... or music... or archery... anything) by age 3. He just seems so put together, how could he not? But then, this happened:

We spent Friday night hanging-out with our friends, Shawn and Andrea They have two kids, so Andrea has a stockpile of age-appropriate toys for C-Monkey. During one of Colin's more sage moments - in which he looked like he was lapping up all that was going on around him and filing it in some sort of impressive mental filing cabinet - Andrea hung this toy* from the handle of his car seat:

All contemplation was lost. Colin went berserk for that frog. He stared at it, enraptured, for at least three minutes. So, I take back my aspirational speculation that Colin might be a master archer at 3. Apparently, Colin's mental machinations are far more humble; they're more like, "That frog is off the hook!"

* Some facts have been changed for the ease of storytelling. Mostly, what changed was the type of animal. In reality, it was a striped blue tiger. But apparently, Bright Starts no longer makes the striped blue tiger clip-on friend. It was replaced by a (far less imaginative) green frog. So, really, Colin thinks that a blue tiger is off the hook. I wish I didn't have to resort to artistic license in only my fourth blog post, but I didn't have a camera handy to show the real toy, and I had to rely on finding what I could on the internet. If you have a complaint, I suggest you take it to Bright Starts.

Popeye.

2008-09-18T00:07:00.000-07:00

I have been back to work - in either part-time or full-time capacity - for almost three weeks. For the first two weeks, my co-workers heckled me for not having any photos of Colin in my office. So, this week, to make amends, I brought in some of my favorite pictures.

It's worth noting that, while Colin is smiling now and has been for several weeks, he doesn't smile at just anything. His smiles are hard-earned. As a result, he isn't smiling in any of the pictures. He is, however, doing this:

I'm crazy about this picture. I think it's hilarious. However, in just one day, three of my co-workers (three!) said he looks like Popeye. I didn't know three people in one office could even remember what Popeye looks like - let alone, compare Colin's shrewd, discerning smirk to Popeye's whatever-he's-doing.*

* Apparently, there's some debate on this. Wikipedia says that early renditions of Popeye had him with only one good eye (he lost his right eye in "the mos' arful battle" of his life). Later, his right eyewas just squinty. Either way, Popeye isn't supposed to be a good-looking dude.

Clearly, I'm biased. And clearly, I'd rather think my son looks like Brad. Or me. Basically, anyone who isn't a one-eyed, 1950's cartoon character. Even with that disclosure, I don't see the similarity. But what do I know? I'm just his mom.

Colin.

2008-09-11T10:55:00.000-07:00

Here is my reason for blogging. He's a pretty cool customer. His favorite past times include looking out the window (especially at trees), staring in the mirror (especially at himself), kicking (especially his mom, usually right in the stomach), and upper right cuts (especially his dad, usually as a way of waking him up in the morning).

We've Landed.

2008-09-11T10:46:00.000-07:00

Brad and I have a miserable Internet presence. Google searches of our names come up with droll and boring hits. We have decided to change that for the better. So, in an effort to gussy up our Internet presence, we had a kid. We named him Colin, and we hope that Colin will give us enough material that we can muster some blog entries. That way, when you Google us, you won't come up empty-handed. And we don't look so lame. Instead, we look self-aggrandizing. A change for the better? Let's hope.