Letter 20

Dear Lincoln,
You are such an "All-American-Boy!" That or I'm just a fast food mom. Anytime we drive by Wendy's (and occasionally McDonald's) you yell out, "I want two fries!" You're really saying you want french fries, but I usually give you two at a time...so I think that's where the two fries call originated. Since we're generally out and about for other reasons, I deny your request and we move on. But, on Sundays, your father and I like to pick up lunch after the church meeting, so it's almost guaranteed that you'll get french fries. French fries aren't exactly the healthiest thing for you to eat. In fact, I question if there is anything healthy about them.
Because of this, one time I decided I was going to make you sweet potato fries, only they don't get crunchy from baking, and deep frying them sort of defeats the point.
As horrible as traditional fries likely are, your smile when you're allowed to eat one (after you've finished your also unwholesome heavily breaded chicken nuggets) is priceless. And kind of worth it.

You're my guy (with the fry) I love you.

Letter 19

Dear Lincoln,
You're my dancing queen. Ahem. Uh. Dancing dynast? I'll blast the music and you will come running up to me begging to dance. And when I get tired and need to sit down, you'll beg again.
You've always been like this; in love with dancing and music. I remember when you used to move to the microwave going off. Ha! I have a video of you bobing to the beat of your musical mirror at nine months old. Since then, you've showed a love for music through singing and instrument. Admittedly, I could do without the 10am drumming, but I'll wait a few years before letting you know. For now, I'll do my best to cheer you on (and keep it under 15 minutes).
One of my favorite things about your love for music is your dedication to mimicking others' dance moves. Your papa is excellent at show casing this. He'll do the most awkward dancing just to watch your imitation.
This week while I was practicing some hip hop (yes, I'm in a hip hop class; remember this when you're older and you don't think I'm cool) you were emulating the moves and doing pretty darn good too.
You get this from your father. He can write music, play practically any instrument, sing, etc. I karaoke. And my enthusiam is far greater than my talent (I proved that this week as well)!
I look forward to your next performance.

I love you leapin' Lincoln!

Letter 18

Dear Lincoln,
I think I've discovered your inner hero, as have you. You may not have named him, but I have. Diaper box Daredevil. Or more appropriately, Any Box Adventurer. There's something about a box (or laundry basket, or crate, or anything else that provides a little elevation) that calls to you. Yesterday I brought home a box of diaper wipes and as soon as I dropped it onto the floor you declared it yours. You conquered it's height and then belittled it with ninja jumps. I'm not sure who needed saved or what the threat was, but you were the hero. Of course, when you went to your room and added that box to three others, placed them on your bed and then started to climb them (!) I declared you a hooligan and added some kyptonite to the situation, nullifing your super powers. Ah the power of Mama saying "No!"
I'm sure this bravery will be extracted again, likely at the sight of another box.
Till then, I'm going to have to handicap the inner hero lest you collapse with the very building you seek to save.

I love you luminary Lincoln

Letter 17

Dear Shea,
Yesterday you turned 9 months old. The day before, you started crawling. Today, you had your doctor appointment; aside from your meager number on the scale, you were/are perfect. You were rocking your denim diapers and a fancy flower band, so it's no surprise everyone went gaga over you. At 15lb and 2 oz and a whole 26 inches tall, you were the sweetest of sweet. When we got home, you crawled from the center of the living room over to your music table, pulled yourself up and played the piano for a good 15 minutes before you decided to slump down to the floor and find something else to play with. Your crawling has been so liberating for you and I can't wait till you learn to walk. The smiles and giggles will be endless. Well, probably not. You'll still do a fair share of crying. Like when you see me scrape the inside of your food container; it's like you know that sound and action signify dinner is done. I like to call you Sheaday during these moments. Your cry/yell is so loud and boisterous, "Mayday! Mayday!" And of course, you'll probably still cry when I leave the room. But, eventually, you'll just follow me and by then, I will be reminded of how convenient it was when you just sat still. Such a silly circle.
Today I am just thankful for you. Not for the tricks of yesterday or tomorrow, but simply for you. Sheaday and all.

I love you Shea. My sweet, small Shea.

Letter 16

Dear Shea,
A funny thing happened today with you. I had Pandora (internet radio) playing on the laptop behind me while working with you on your walking. You were making your way around the table, with a cute little bounce in your step to the music. When you reached the edge of the table I put my arms out and encouraged you to come toward me. As if on cue, Journey's chorus chimed in as well with, "So now I come to you, with open arms, Nothing to hide, believe what I say. So here I am with open arms. Hoping you'll see what your love means to me. Open arms "
It was so climatic as you fell into my lap that it made me laugh.

as you jaunt on the "journey", I love you!

Letter 15

Dear Lincoln and Shea,
This morning I woke to my alarm clock, aka Shea. I kept to my usual routine: pull up the covers and fold them over gently then slide out carefully so as not to make too many wrinkles, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth and head into the nursery. As I gently opened the door, careful not to make much noise and wake up, what I thought would be my little guy sleeping, I noticed Linc's covers on the floor and his bed empty. So much for being careful. Only, where were you? I scanned the room and ah, yes. There you were. A foot taller, thanks to the foot stool you had made with Shea's crib, and your arms: one holding on to the crib for support, one dangling in front of Shea, taunting her with her pillow. Shea, you were in a crawl position and grinning from ear to ear. "Hi! Mama!" I grin. "Good morning Lincoln." Why am I so blessed? Such radiant faces greeting me. It was then that I saw the clock. 6:44am. Oh my. Early birds, you're still not getting breakfast till 8 so let's try being the second mouse that gets the cheese, okay?

I love you my little bustling brood!

Letter 14

Dear Lincoln and Shea,
I took this video while the two of you were suppose to be napping. Shea, you don't normally sleep in the swing for your naps, but since you had fallen asleep in the swing, I went ahead and left you there. Lincoln, you must have been disinterested with sleeping as your sister swayed in front of your bed. I'm assuming you woke up Shea (not difficult) and enjoyed making her try to laugh (very difficult).
At first I was frustrated that the two of you weren't sleeping, and worried that you would try to pull off this stunt tomorrow, but I was interrupted by Shea laughing. This is normally quite the chore. I work vigorously to make sound come out from behind that foolish grin, without any returned favor. But here you were, Lincoln, playing with her swing and working your silly face with great success.
Even though I knew the two of you really should have been napping, I couldn't find myself going into the room to correct the situation. Instead, trying to stay hidden behind the door in the dark hall, I grabbed my phone and hit record...
These moments are precious and I didn't want a schedule to take away from the joy I had in watching your innocence. Sure, in a few hours you would both be crabby from having not napped, but I knew I could just watch the video again and remind myself it was worth it.

I love you straying sleepers!

Letter 13

Dear Lincoln,
Your papa tells you everyday that you have "big brains" and then the two of you point at your heads with silly grins. I don't disagree. I think you both are very smart. Just yesterday I was working with you on remembering your Bible verse for the week, and you had it down in the first 20 minutes (and you still knew it this morning too!). Of course, there are times when you don't quite remember everything. Like counting over 15. You're pretty good until 15. Then I don't know what happens. It goes something like this: 14 16 17 18 17 18!
Only it sounds more like: aaiggteeen. seeventeeen. eigggghhhtting. Seeevennteen!
If I intervene at 18 and throw in 19 then you make it to 20 just fine; if I intervene. Sometimes it's cuter to just watch you circle round and round.

I love you looping Lincoln!

Letter 12

Dear Shea,
Sweetie, you love to eat. As I write this, I am eating a strawberry pop-tart. Well, actually two strawberry pop tarts; so, I know where this little (read: big) appetite comes from. As I (eat my pop tart and) think about you eating (ha!) I realize that there is so much to say about this topic: your mannerisms, the quantity of food you consume, the sounds you make, your facial expressions, etc. I'll spend a few minutes on just your mannerisms and save the rest of another day.
Your best mannerism, or at least my favorite to watch, happens when you are eating a cookie. I don't know where you picked up this particular trait, or if it was innate (imagine that!), but it fascinating. You hold the cookie with two hands, one at the top and one at the bottom, and you rotate it around and around after each bite. Since you're gnawing at both ends of the cookie, you get ridiculously messy, but it seems to get the job done. Others have seen you do this and have commented on it. I usually confirm that it's normal (for you) and that I have no idea why you do it!
You're also adorable eating small snacks like cheerio's or puffs. Your eyes get all googly and your fingers spread as wide as they can as you reach for not one, but several pieces to bring to your mouth.
I think eating is your favorite thing in the whole world.

Silly snack spinner Shea, I love you!

Letter 11

Dear Lincoln,
You love to name everything, or at least tell me what everything is named. I love to listen to it. For the most part. (Grin). Today I heard the famous piano chime of The Entertainer; playing it's catchy 20 seconds and then repeating and I knew that the ice cream truck was coming. The sound grew and then it came into sight. You went running to the screen door and started yelling, "Truck! Truck! That's a truck!" I affirmed. "Yes, that's an ice.." I pause. Oh No. I almost told you what was stored in that precious truck. Was it too late? I pictured your reaction and desire for ice cream and how I would have to protect you from it as we embraced summer's arrival. Before I could decide what more to say, you repeated back all that I had mentioned. "That's a truck. That's uh. uh. ice truck." (grin). I affirmed again with a nod of the head. "Uh huh. That's an ice truck."

Labeling Lincoln, I love you.

Letter 10

Dear Shea,
I've been trying to figure out what color your eyes are. Mine are green. At least, I'm convinced they are green. My drivers license says they are green too; never mind that's because I filled out the paperwork to say so. Your father thinks they are blue with a yellow rim. Blue and yellow make green, so I don't know why he hasn't just accepted that proves my eyes are green. Plus, his father is colorblind, and I think that means when Papa and I disagree on what color something is, it only shows he too is colorblind.
Lincoln and Papa's are pretty obvious. Mesmerizing blue. Actually, your papa has blue-gray eyes and Lincoln has blue-light blue eyes. It's like looking into a kaleidoscope of a dozen different shades of blue. Let's just say, staring contest are not difficult with either of them.
Your eyes aren't blue or green. Or brown for that matter. Or hazel. Is hazel even a color? I always thought hazel came from a hazelnut shell. In that case, it's kind of a brown, amber color. Of course, perception of color depends on viewing conditions. My eyes always look more green when wearing a green shirt (hence it being my favorite color to wear) and lightening makes a difference too. Anyway, the more I look at your eyes, the more I think they are.... perfect. A gray blue with a ring of yellow. (But not to be confused with green, of course) =)

"The eye speaks with an eloquence and truthfulness surpassing speech. It is the window out of which the winged thoughts often fly unwittingly. It is the tiny magic mirror on whose crystal surface the moods of feeling fitfully play, like the sunlight and shadow on a still stream." Henry Theodore Tuckerman

Shea, with your scope eyes, I love you.

Letter 9

Dear Lincoln,
I love how you will remember a conversation and repeat it back in a completely different context. Today in the car, while Papa was filling up the gas tank, you were saying over and over to yourself, "Honor Mama and Papa". Only, after repeating it again and again the words started to slur together and get jumbled so by the time Papa got back in the car you were saying, "Mama honor Papa". Pat and I laughed and so you said it again. Papa affirmed this with a, "That's right! Mama honors Papa". I gave a smile; though it was being jested about, it was true. Then your Papa said, "And Papa loves Mama!" Which you eagerly copied as well. I'm so glad that you have a father that will not only love you, but teach you how to love. And I'm so thankful that I get to watch the whole thing with front row seats.

Like Father, like son, I love you.

Letter 8

Dear Lincoln and Shea,
Tonight while I was bathing you two before bed, I laughed. Lincoln, I laughed at your mosquito bitten legs and how I could give you a geography lesson with just one limb. Shea, I laughed at your furious kicking and hearty smile when the water went over your ears as I rinsed your hair. You two are such water bugs. I've always loved the water too, so I'm not surprised; pools, oceans, sprinklers or whatever outlet was available, I loved it.
I admit I'm a little nervous about juggling the two of you at a public pool this summer. Last year I took you, Lincoln, as often as I could find 20 quarters stuck in the couch (which wasn't easy since we spent a lot of our quarters on the Racine parking meters to visit the library!). At first you loved walking into the shallow end and could be content there. But once I had taken you out to the deep where we would jump and practice swimming, you were ruined for anything else.
I've spent the first few weeks of summer at garage sales stocking up on swim suits for the two of you, so I hope your bath time fun is telling for our water dates this summer.

I love you mini minnows.

Letter 7

Dear Lincoln,
I could go on and on with your many sweet sayings. Perhaps I will make it a weekly update. To close this week I will add another. When I was getting you and your sister ready to go outside for a walk, I decided to put cotton balls in your ears since it was a little windy. When you saw me pull them out you said, "Mommy! Those go on face"
It's funny to me how you can watch me getting ready every morning (using cotton balls soaked with toner) (or "colors" for eyeliner) and memorize such minute details without instruction to do so. (Yet, I think I've told you a million times that your milk cup goes on the table, and not on the couch!)

Lax Lincoln I love you.

Letter 6

Dear Lincoln,
I am always amazed at the stuff that comes out of your mouth. Sometimes sweet. Sometimes sassy. Yesterday when I was trimming your toenails, you said, "No Mommy. No haircut on my toes". Sweet. Then earlier today when I was telling you not to touch the potty (a difficult task when I'm suppose to be encouraging you to want to go on the potty), I said, "Lincoln don't touch." You looked at me while reaching your hands toward the potty saying, "Yes. Mama. I wanna touch." Patiently, I replied, "I said no Lincoln". Then with a deadly smile you stated back matter-of-factly, "Yes Mommy. I said yes!" Sassy. While at the park, you were trying to go up the stairs so you could go down the slide but another boy (a little older) stood at the top and kept telling you not to come up. You looked at me, and I urged you to go ahead. You then said. "Play all together". I wanted to scoop you up and hug you to pieces! Instead I smiled, looked at the toddlers mom knowing mine was better. Ha.
I also love how every time you say "Hiiii" to anyone (and everyone) you then turn to me and say, "I said Hi!" Yes. Yes you did sweetie.

Cheeky Linky I love you

Letter 5

Dear Shea,
I'm watching you sleep right now and simply admiring you. Thanking God for you. You must be dreaming of something because your hands keep moving around, and a few minutes ago you took your pacifier out, turned it around and put it back in your mouth. I take a deep breath and try to soak it all in. I wonder if you are this beautiful when no one is looking.

Today, you did not crawl. I say this because I know there will be a day soon, perhaps tomorrow, when I cannot say that. I spent time with you this morning, trying to get that back leg to move in forward motion. You, like your brother at this age, have little interest in crawling; you just want to stand and cruise around the furniture.

When you do crawl, I'm anxious to have Anthony, three weeks older but quite the crawling pro, over and see the two of you race. I can picture the race now. It's much like the turtle races my sister, brother and I would enter for the Rice Lake County Fair. All the turtles placed in the middle of a large circle and then the temporary owners stood around the ring chanting for it's turtle to cross outside of the circle first. I remember shouting and jumping up and down hoping my turtle would bring me home a bag of cotton candy or some over sized stuff animal. Ha.

Lest I continue comparing you to a turtle that I found on the side of the road, I'm going to save the rest of my sentiments for later.

I love you sleeping Shea. Sweet dreams.