The Sun Came Out.

The sun doesn't come out very often up here in Portland.

So when it does, us Reds make it a festival of an event.

Emmett's routine remark for this festival is first a gasp, followed by a really high pitched screaming voice, "Wook Mom, the sun came out!!!"

(p.s. I wasn't kidding about him being the "wook mom" shadow.)

These last couple of weeks we've had a flood of sunny days.

In fact, Emmett has pretty much stopped pointing out the sun is out.

These are some of our fun in the sun outings of late:

Airplane flying

Farmer's marketing

Cannon beach-ing

Pool partying

Wook Mom!

This Drawing sits on our book shelf which faces our bed.

So on Sunday, while reading in my bed, I was purposely trying to ignore this noise:

"Mom Wook! ... Mom Wook! .... Mom Wook! ... Mom Wook!

(A.K.A. Mom Look!)

Kinda sounds cruel.

However, F.Y.I., this noise follows me as closely and as constantly as my own shadow.

Probably even closer, if that's possible.

Eventually I gave in, hoping to quiet this shadow temporarily,

"Yes Emmett?"

Emmett, standing right below the drawing on the bookshelf looking just like this, replied,

"Wook Mom, I'm Jesus!"

p.s. Eric's sketching skills...not bad, huh?

Green with Envy.

Hmmm. Of all the things I fretted about with having a second child, I never anticipated this. I'm fraught with jealousy.

Eric, my BFF, soulmate, lover, is now enamoured with another girl...Margot. Margot, my sweet little sunshine, gleams brighter for her Dad than any other person on this planet.

I feel replaced.

p.s. I suppose there are worse things.

Margot! Can't Touch the Hair.

Emmett has long blonde hair.

There are many, particularly my Dad and brothers, who totally disdain this long blonde hair.

In fact, last time we visited, I couldn't leave Emmett alone with Papa due to his constant threats he'd cut it all off.

But Emmett with short blonde hair wouldn't be my Emmett.

"Protective" would classify mine (and Eric's) opinion on the matter.

However, this protectiveness has seeped down, beyond us parents, and into Emmett himself.

This video conveys what I mean:

So quick to forgive.... but....we still gave him a trim.

p.s. Margot's hair now fits into a clippy. Way to go Margot!

Margot's Blessing Day.

p.s. Margot is wearing the same blessing dress, cap, and blanket that I wore on my blessing day.

I know...precious, huh.

Blueberry Eyes.

Since Margot's arrival, Emmett has taken to some new hobbies.

His favorite seems to be standing at the top of the stairs and spitting, aiming to land on the furthest possible step.

Another new pastime includes Emmett gathering rocks from the front yard, bringing them into the bathroom, watching them dive into the toilet water while screaming onomatopoeias. "PLOP....KERPLUNK....SPLASH!"

He also loves trying to play basketball with Margot. He frequently throws his ball at her yelling, "Catch Baby Margot!" His frustration with her ineptness only leads him to keep trying.

However, I do have to admit I have grown to love one of his new found hobbies. This is his amusement with examining Margot. He is amazed with the tiny parts of this tiny living being. Her miniature toes, belly button, fingers, ears.

This morning as I was holding the wide awake newborn, Emmett came over to examine her and was suddenly engrossed, eye to eye, with her. He then turned to me and exclaimed, "There are blueberries in Margot's eyes Mom!"

Then, catching my eyes, he grabbed my face and pulled me in face to face with his and discovered, "There are blueberries in Mom's eyes too!"

I suddenly forgot about the the countless times my hand had been in the toilet digging out rocks and scrubbing m&m stained spit out of our carpeted stairs.

p.s. Emmett has root beer eyes.

Meeting Margot!

Mom meets Margot.

Dad meets Margot.

Emmett meets Margot.

You meet Margot...

Margot Vollie Red

Born February 15th, 2009

6 lbs. 9 oz.

18.5 in.

Christmas in January.

We left our camera in Utah over the Holidays. Just got it back.

Here is what would have been posted:

Fishy takes a Holiday

Up here in Oregon, dogs are all the rage. Since we are trying to braid ourselves into Oregonian culture, we bought Emmett a goldfish for his birthday (we're starting the enculturation process slowly.)

Emmett's first and last thoughts of the day were this fish.

First morning words = "Good Morning Fishy!"

Last words of the day = "Night Night Fishy, Love you!"

Now you can understand why I was surprised the day Emmett decided to play with the fish and ended up knocking the fish bowl into the sink....fish ending up in the drain and Emmett having no remorse for the death of his Fish.

Another surprise came when I found myself in deep mourning and hard sobbing over this fish who suffocated down in the disposal (living baby creatures deaths are a hard topic for pregnant folk.) Plus, I was in anguish over the fact my son had no compassion and felt zero guilt for his murder.

So weeks later, whilst in a church meeting at my house, I curiously watched Emmett grab the dining room chair, push it into the kitchen, center the chair in front of the sink, climb up on the chair...and then watched him peer into the kitchen sink.

In a most pensive and forlorn voice he asked,

"Fishy, Where are you?....Fishy, Come back."

That's when I slapped myself.

I had punished and reprimanded him over and over, trying to instill in him a sense of remorse and contriteness.

When, in reality, he just thought his fishy was on Holiday.

The moral of the goldfish:

Discipline = to teach...not to punish.

P.S. I think Santa will bring Emmett's fishy back from his vacation for Christmas.