to let Wyatt pick out the Christmas tree:
and get out the ornaments:
and hang them all one by one:
I turned Thirty!! What better way to celebrate my entry into adulthood than partying big time in the Big Easy. Partying with my husband and one year old son on Bourbon street in New Orleans looked a little something like this:
Dancing to live music in the street:
Getting wasted on beignets and waking up covered in powdered sugar:
Walking around the city, taking in the sites, and hitting the hay at 8:00 pm.
Turning thirty was no big thing. It was just the first time in a year that I’ve gotten 9 consecutive hours of sleep. As in, in a row. AKA: it was a blessed miracle of a weekend.**
**Aside from the weirdly approving stares Joel got from drunk men partying at 6:00pm as he pushed Wyatt around in the stroller (seriously, they looked at Joel, looked at Wyatt, and then thumbs upped Joel… What’s the big deal people?? We’re just starting the mom-dad-son partying early. Who’s up for clubbing next week?)
I kept calling this Halloween Wyatt’s first Halloween… even though he technically went trick-or-treating last year (see below).
But, this was the first year he could walk and he could carry a little bag to put his candy in and we could parade him down the street, earning as many admiring stares and pieces of candy as possible (all of which were more for us than for him… okay, ALL of it was for us). So, we did it. Joel donned his ever ready Pooh costume, I broke out my Piglet monstrosity, and we forced Wyatt into joining our cult:
We made dreams come true this Halloween. Seriously. I cried. I cried big fat tears, and not just because Wyatt scored enough candy to fill my belly that night. No, I cried because this year everything felt right.
Best Halloween Ever.
In case you didn’t know: I’m back at work. Wah wah wah. Even though I have abandoned Wyatt for the world of work, he doesn’t hold it against me. Instead, because he’s just the coolest, sweetest, most amazing kid, he hugs me and kisses me and shows me about a million things from the minute I walk in the door until he falls asleep at night. And, then there are the weekends. Beautiful, blessed weekends when Wyatt and I get up early and go to the park to watch the dogs run and play. When Wyatt sits in my lap and points to every airplane that flies over head. When Wyatt hugs me tight as the dogs run over to us. When Wyatt waves and yells “hi!” to every passing human (and canine). When there is nothing else in the world except my sweet family and the beautiful place we live.
Happy Birthday Sweetheart! Three years old. I often think of the whirlwind way in which you came into this world. With equal parts excitement and terror you were born. And you were perfect.
It may seem like all Wyatt all the time over here since your little brother was born, but I assure you, not a moment goes by that we aren’t thinking of you. Wyatt’s presence in our lives has made me love you (and miss you) all the more. Wyatt has recently started pointing at pictures of you, looking at us questioningly. We tell him who you are. We tell him you’re his big sister and you love him very much. He seems happy with this answer.
I can’t help but sit and wonder what life would be like with you and Wyatt here, in one place. I know you’d love him and hate him, in the way only a big sister can. I know you’d read to him, and hug him, and get annoyed with him when he wants what you’re playing with (in the way only a little brother does). It makes me smile to think about.
I love you sweet girl.
Happy Birthday Darling
You aren’t a baby anymore. It’s been a long time coming, I know. There have been plenty of hints along the way: When you started sleeping exclusively in your crib (not even snuggling during nap time!); when the twins came home and I held those wobbly headed, snorting little bundles of joy, as you chased (read: tormented) Sofia; when you became a bonafide kid who actually plays with other kids. My baby isn’t a baby. I know everything I’m about to say is totally cliche, but seriously, cliches are cliches for a reason. They are true and must be repeated. This past year has just flown by! I could have sworn it was just yesterday that you came into this world and changed our lives forever. When did you become a big boy? As I held those tiny little cousins of yours in my arms, you ran around the room like a maniac, hugging my legs, pulling my dress over your head, calling out “mama.” Whoa. A year ago you were the tiniest little in my arms, today you’re something else. (I’m a real boy!). You’re a full time walker, part time mischief maker. You only recently became someone who understands humor. As you know, your Daddy’s laugh is incredible. It’s reminiscent of Winnie the Pooh in it’s sweetness, but it also booms, filling the whole room with laughter. Now, whenever Daddy laughs, you break out in the most hilarious, fake laugh I’ve ever heard. It sounds exactly like this: Hah – Hah – Hah – Hah (pause) Hah – Hah – Hah – Hah. You’re a ham. You all of a sudden decided you’re old enough to hang with the big kids. You chase them around (they mostly hate it), you “talk” to the cats whenever you see them (this mostly means yelling loudly in their faces), and your eyes practically bug out of your head when you get the opportunity to touch them. And, in the last three days you have become opinionated and willful. You point deliberately at objects you desire (especially at nap time – when you’d rather play with your toys than take a nap), making demands and shaking your head vigorously when we mistakenly grab the wrong object. We’ve been trying (to no avail) to teach you to say please (in sign language) when you want something – I swear you would rather cut off your own hand than follow this simple request. But, at the same time, you go over to my many jars of tea (a place you love to play, but just aren’t allowed to) and stand there, saying, “no, no, no” before running off on some other exploration. You give endless hugs, thoroughly enjoy being the center of attention, and are our pride and joy.
I have been asked so many times this past year if parenting is what I expected. I often struggle to answer this question. It’s too difficult to explain how one can never, ever prepare for how life will change when that baby is born. I thought I knew how much love I would have for you, this tiny little human that I made. But, I was so wrong. Wyatt, you bring me more joy than I ever, in a million trillion years, could ever have guessed. You make me happy, always – even when you make me frustrated. All I want to do is hold you and kiss you and hold you some more. Your presence in our lives is exactly, perfectly as it should be, and at the same time, has expanded my heart a godzillian times more than I thought possible. I love you Wyatt. I am proud to call you my son. I have loved you since I knew you were in my belly, since the first time I laid eyes on you, since the first time you smiled at me, since you sat in my lap this morning as I read you a book. I can’t imagine life without you.
Happy birthday, Son.
Just call him Farmer Wyatt.
But, seriously, isn’t he the cutest overall wearing, apple eating, farmer wannabe you’ve ever seen? On our recent trip to Michigan, we spent a bit of our time over at the old farmhouse where my mom and her sibs grew up. Wyatt reveled in the wide open spaces, pranced around the apple trees, and then picked one up and had some lunch.
Oh yeah, our actual reason for visiting was my cousin’s wedding, where this very special picture was taken. Oh how perfectly it captures the sibling dynamic. Me, trying to be good and obedient, while my bro and sis are whispering secrets and plotting their evil doings (which they’ll totally get away with) in the back.
Before returning to the wedding madness, where we partied so hard Wyatt ended up with a few shiners (seriously, this kid is a party animal), we snapped one last pic of the next generation. Cute as a button, the whole lot of them.
I was cleaning up some things around the blog yesterday and stumbled upon some incomplete drafts from years ago. I deleted most of them because they were more than a little ridiculous, but there were a few that I just had to share. Here is one I wrote almost a year after we moved to Brooklyn. We moved in May, didn’t come home for Christmas, and by the time we finally did visit in April, I was a homesick mess:
The hubs and I had a wonderful time hiking, running, laying out, and most importantly, visiting you. I hate to admit it, but at one point during our visit I had a bit of a melt down. Through tears, snot, and blubbering, the words, “Why did we ever leave?” assaulted Joel’s ears. Because my husband is so wonderful, he quickly hid the horror/fear in his eyes and gently asked me if I wanted to move back. Luckily for him, we were then forced to spend the next 45 mins stuck in traffic on the I-10, and I quickly came to my senses. So, when you’re finished reading this blog, take a minute or two to surf the net for some cheap tickets to NYC.
Your daughter, sister, friend”
Ha! Oh the silliness. What a lifetime ago that was. We moved to NYC 5.5 years ago and I can’t even imagine not having made this move. We’ve had 2 apartments, 2 children, and more than our fair share of joy and disappointment. We are old, we are wiser, we are happier than ever… But, still come visit us! Seriously. We miss you lots.
Aside from the few times my cousins and I would creep around in their neighbor’s yard to pick berries, I have never had a fruit picking experience. Every Fall our friends go apple picking, in the Spring the Farmer’s Market has signs up for something picking, and yet we always seem to say we’ll go, but never actually go. Until now!
A couple of weeks ago we took the Bub blueberry picking in Vermont. It was a beautiful day. I held Wyatt as I picked blueberries and tossed them in my bucket. As we went deeper into the rows of blueberry bushes I noticed some low hanging fruit and decided to let Wyatt stand so he could pick some berries himself. I leaned over to set Wyatt on the ground and my bucket swung down in his direction. Without a second thought Wyatt reached into my blueberry bucket, pulled out berries by the fist full and jammed them into his mouth. I sat him on the ground and tried to stand up, but that little boy had my bucket in a choke hold and refused to let go. He wouldn’t even look at the bushes – instead he kept pillaging that bucket of blueberries. No amount of pleading or yanking could get that boy to let go of his bucket of blueberries.
After some careful negotiation I was able to educate Wyatt in the fine art of blueberry picking, and we took home about 11 lbs. I’m going to guess Wyatt ate about 10.
So, I’m really behind in my posts. I have three in the queue, and I decided it would be best to do them in chronological order, but seriously, it’s been so long since we went to Smorgusburg, I don’t even remember what we ate. No, that’s not true. I ate doughnuts from Dough. And they were delicious. I’d like to say I’m somewhat of a doughnut connoisseur – but the truth is, if there’s a doughnut, I’ll find it – and then eat it. Any time, any place. Starting to get a hankering for doughnuts right now…
Anyway, if you don’t know what Smorgusburg is, or have never been, I highly recommend it. Food vendors galore. Aside from the donuts, we ate sticky rice, wontons and dumplings, ice cream sandwiches, bubble tea, a sandwich, and something spicy (Sorry, the details are a little fuzzy this far out – I warned you!).
And, that’s all I have to say about that. Look at the pretty pictures below and forgive me for writing the worst blog ever. Three more to go! Eek.
The question of the day is this: Can you believe it’s already almost been a year? The short answer: No! H no. Not even a little bit. The long answer is a little more complicated. Wyatt is eleven months old. ELEVEN months! That is both an eternity and the shortest amount of time in the world – depending on where you’re standing.
Right now I’d have to say Wyatt is the best person in the entire world. He smiles all day long. He laughs deep belly laughs like it’s going out of style. He is determined and interested and curious. He walks with purpose. Most of the time this means standing up, looking at me, then running from the room, giggling uncontrollably. I know this means he wants me to follow. Of course, I comply, and as I chase him he laughs and shrieks. Then he runs into the corner, turns and leaps into my arms, laughing all the while. He’s a champion Peek-A-Boo player, he laughs uncontrollably when his mama dances, and when he wakes up in his crib he stands up, holds his hands above his head, and shouts “Mama!” He points to the baby when we ask, he sings when his daddy plays the piano, and the other day he said “basketball” (I swear!). Had enough yet? I can go on forever. How has it only been eleven months? How has it already been eleven months? It’s insane. Don’t even get me started on Clementine. It’s almost been three years since our red headed beauty entered the world, folks. THREE YEARS! Who knows where the time goes?
Of course I know these past eleven months have given Wyatt the time to develop these skills and grow into the charmingly handsome, attention seeking baby model that he is. And yet, to say that it has almost been a year. That is ridiculous. No way that much time has passed already. No way I’m going to blink and discover that Wyatt is a grown man. These eleven months were so wonderful and so good, and just too, too fast. And, these past three years… in these past three years our little family of two turned into the family we are today.
This is our family, three years in the making.
It’s time for Eckroths. And we’re zany to the max. So just sit back and relax. You’ll laugh ’til you collapse. We’re Eckroths. (See below).
Scranton, PA. Home to Dunder Mifflin, Jim and Pam, and just one of those places I always wanted to visit. I jest.
Scranton, PA is actually the (temporary) home of my two favorite twin bubbas. It’s been three long weeks since we saw the boys and since they’re in Scranton, to Scranton we will go. Turns out this sleepy little town is beautiful. Stunning views, old houses, and magnificent parks. And, we got to spend a little time with the guys.
Come home soon boys! We miss you.
Last week I picked up my phone to check the weather. As the app opened I gasped: 95 DEGREES!? Seriously. Where was I living? Arizona? Then I looked again and noticed that I had, in fact, been looking at Arizona’s weather. My bad. I swiped to find the correct page and when I finally landed on the local weather page, I was rewarded for my efforts: it was actually only 94 degrees. WTF. Oh, that’s right. Heat Wave.
Well the heat wave broke today so we packed up the picnic basket and the babe and headed out on our second journey to Governor’s Island.
The whole way there Joel and I couldn’t stop talking about the 4 person bikes you can rent to ride around the island. Last time we visited the island I was a zillion months pregnant (see pic below) and it was a zillion degrees out (maybe summer is the wrong time to go?) so we skipped the bikes and vowed to try them next time. Well, today was the day. Yay for four person bikes! Except, kiddos have to be older than 1 to ride that ride. Doh.
Despite our inability to ride the bicycle I’ve been dreaming about (it just occurred to me that the things that excite me these days are very different than the things that excited me before kids…) and I did throw a giant temper tantrum because of it… (Sorry 16 year old kid who bore the bulk of my wrath. My bad, again. I blame the heat wave and the lack of sleep it caused) we did get to ride a vintage French carousel, Wyatt made friends with another Wyatt, and I didn’t get sick on the ferry. Yay for beautiful days like this one.