I have come to the realization that a couple of my recent blog posts - the few and far between - have been lots of pictures and not so many words. Which is probably better all around. However, it is not necessarily due to a lack of material (there is always something random and provocative to ponder on and prattle about) it is more due to a lack of time and energy during the day.
To quote the fabulous Groucho Marx, time flies like an arrow but fruit flies like a banana.
The last two weeks Clay has been getting up at ridiculous hours of the middle of the night to go read asbestos slides at a job site for work. Exciting stuff. This inspired me to get up at the slightly less ridiculous hour of 6 a.m. to work outside. Mostly with Chico, but I do get some gardening/watering (where is the rain?) and miscellaneous other animal care in. For those who have any remote interest on the subject, Chico is learning to be a nice little dressage pony in my new (old) Passier saddle .....ahhh, I'm in love..... and discovering the joys of lying down on command. Well, at least, he's being very tolerant about the whole thing. What a good boy.
But I digress.
Long story short, my day starts in the cool, beautiful, early summer morning hours before the kids are awake. Then there's breakfast with warm milk (for the kids, they're so spoiled). Some school time with Margaret, practicing for starting a serious schedule this fall. This is usually followed by the day's busy activities, varying drastically according to the day. Recently this has involved a lot of water time for the kids - wading pools, sprinklers, slip & slides, trips to the Jordan Valley fountain park, etc. Quiet times in the afternoon, often for all of us. Getting up and working first thing in the morning is much harder to do during pregnancy. Supper. Popsicles. Reading books with the kids (Margaret has started actually enjoying chapter books! Which Clay and I enjoy. We're currently working through Winnie the Pooh and Stuart Little). And then, my new absolute favorite, homemade blueberry Italian sodas. Mmmm.
But, since we're on a Groucho Marx kick, enough about little me. Let's talk about little you. Or, rather, little Amelia.
The whole inspiration for this post.
It hit me the other day that Amelia is older than William was when she was born. Astounding. He was walking and talking (I think) and seemed like such a big boy. Amelia is still our cuddly baby. Such a luxury, to space your kids more than 16 months apart. And Amelia is living it up to its full potential. Including not walking at (almost) 18 months.
That is, she has taken lots of steps on her own. Mostly in the evenings when Clay and I encourage her to walk between us across the living room. This involves a high quantity of high-pitched baby talk in excited tones, clapping, and yelling "yay! Amelia!". And then she's so pleased with herself. But usually she just likes to pretend she's going to walk, giggle hysterically, and then promptly plop down on her diaper and escape via crawling. She would much rather walk with a hand to hold onto.
Margaret is a good big sister and helps Amelia walk everywhere. They both love it, and I love watching. There is a big advantage in having "older" children.
Amelia's other accomplishments include developing at least four different ways of saying "please" in (her version of) sign language. When she is really excited about something she'll go through the whole repertoire; rubbing her arms, tapping her head, patting her stomach, and (her current favorite) clapping enthusiastically.
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