Ezra sounds like me trying to go to sleep

It’s May 13, 2012, Mother’s Day. I can hear Ezra on the monitor very silently reading to himself. Sometimes he reads aloud, but mostly I just hear the pages turning. Erin goes out of our room for a moment and then returns to tell me that he’s got the hall light and his reading lights on. The reading lights are shaped like green bugs and a white flower. When she goes into the kitchen I can hear Ezra call out to her and say that he’s “sorry about all this, but it’s okay because I’m getting in be now.” She goes into his room and he asks if he can read a book in bed. Erin agrees and Ez lets out a subdued but gleeful “Yay!” My wife comes back in the room shaking her head and smirking the way she does. We can’t fault him on it. We’ve both done it for most of our lives too.

After several minutes he yells out for his mom again. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but…uh…I have to poop. Sorry if I ruined your Mother’s Day present.”

An Apt Metaphor

I often find myself thinking about how much I love your mother, and how hard it is for me to describe to anyone.  Lately I’ve been realizing that I do have an apt metaphor that gets pretty close.  When I think about the universe and how much of it we know about, and then I think about how much more we learn each year as our telescopes and measurements improve it fills me with a sense of awe.  The fact that I can’t possibly really understand how massive everything that we already know is (even though I sometimes try to convince myself that I can) there will always be more to discover and it will always astound us as people at its bigness and our relative smallness.

THAT is how I feel when I think about my love for your mother as well!  That’s not hyperbolic in any way.  I actually do equate the size of my feelings, when I try to conceptualize them in that way, with the size of the universe.  Directly.  And in the same way, even when I manage on rare occasions to convince myself that I have finally grasped the magnitude of it all she does or says something that opens up a new pocket of that universe for me to explore.  My feelings seem to literally swell  on occasions such as these and I can sometimes bask in the afterglow for days and even weeks at a time.  Your mother tells me that I’m awesome sometimes, but I am not as awesome as her, nor can I ever be.  If I’m any good at all it’s due in great part to your mother and her presence in my life.  I believe that to be true with every part of my being, and the truth of it humbles me on a regular basis.

An Apt Metaphor

I often find myself thinking about how much I love your mother, and how hard it is for me to describe to anyone.  Lately I’ve been realizing that I do have an apt metaphor that gets pretty close.  When I think about the universe and how much of it we know about, and then I think about how much more we learn each year as our telescopes and measurements improve it fills me with a sense of awe.  The fact that I can’t possibly really understand how massive everything that we already know is (even though I sometimes try to convince myself that I can) there will always be more to discover and it will always astound us as people at its bigness and our relative smallness.  

THAT is how I feel when I think about my love for your mother as well!  That’s not hyperbolic in any way.  I actually do equate the size of my feelings, when I try to conceptualize them in that way, with the size of the universe.  Directly.  And in the same way, even when I manage on rare occasions to convince myself that I have finally grasped the magnitude of it all she does or says something that opens up a new pocket of that universe for me to explore.  My feelings seem to literally swell  on occasions such as these and I can sometimes bask in the afterglow for days and even weeks at a time.  Your mother tells me that I’m awesome sometimes, but I am not as awesome as her, nor can I ever be.  If I’m any good at all it’s due in great part to your mother and her presence in my life.  I believe that to be true with every part of my being, and the truth of it humbles me on a regular basis.   

Things I love about your mom

I’m certain to add to this list, but I thought I’d start off a list of things I love about your mom.  I would like to hope that most of this is stuff that you will remember too since there’s no reason to assume it would change, but it’s always a good idea to actively remember the good things that you have in your life.  

For starters, I love the way she smells.  She always smells amazing.  She smells like a lady, but in the most pleasant and natural way, not in that strongly-perfumed way that a lot of women smell.  Don’t get me wrong, she wears some perfumes, but everything smells better on her, lighter and more delicate than it would on any other woman.  To be fair, I work for a company that sells perfumes and bath products so as a family we smell pretty good.  We’ve been complimented on it in public, even you.  But your mom has one of the best scents I’ve ever had the privilege to sniff. 

I also love her love of zombies and her deep knowledge of zombie lore.  I can have some in depth, long, detailed conversations with her about how a zombie outbreak would go down, various possible responses, the perfect zombie proof house, personal plans of action in case of a zombie apocalypse.  We’re neither of us under the impression that this will actually happen, but we enjoy thinking about it.  We also have regular nightmares about zombies, but I’ve definitely come to enjoy those immediately after I wake.  Your mother tells me that with her it’s usually never just a zombie dream from start to finish.  Instead she’s always hanging out with her dad or running errands and then suddenly there’s zombies!  It’s also noteworthy that at this point neither she nor I have ever had a zombie dream in which you were involved.  We both feel pretty good about that being the case and would prefer it remain so.  

That’s enough for now, but I’ll update this one regularly whenever I have a thought and a minute to write it down.  This last bit reminds me that I wanted to do a post about the perfect zombie proof house that I had in mind, at least until I read an article recently that included a house powered by a zombie windmill.  I’m still a bit skeptical about that one since maintenance would be next to impossible, but it’s a good starting place for some upgrade ideas.  ~12/6/2011  

That’s my boy!

I was just talking to my father and he was telling me about the day you spent with he and Martha at the Texas State Fair. This happened on October 9, 2011. He ha forgotten to tell me or your mother this one story that he thought was very cute. He said that as you were leaving the fair you passed an older couple, probably in their 60′s, and the man stopped you and asked if you’d like a little Teddy Bear that he had on him. You immediately snatched it and said thanks. You took a couple of steps, clutching the bear close to your chest, and then you stopped and said, “No. No, no, no. I don’t need this”. You turned around and ran back to the man and you gave him back the bear, explaining that, “I don’t REALLY need this. I already have a bear. You can give it to a little kid who doesn’t have one yet.” The man asked if you were sure and you thought for half a second before assuring him that this was the right decision. He was obviously flabbergasted and Peeps and Martha were shocked and bemused.

Your Peeps seemed to mainly think it was a quirky, funny story. I’m not totally certain that he understood the deeper implications, but I immediately got emotional hearing the story. You’re not even five yet and you’re already considerate of other kids, even kids that only exist as an idea in your mind. It made me so proud to know that you’re well on your way to becoming the good, decent person your mother and I are working so hard to raise you to be.

I love history

A love of history is a rare thing. So rare, in fact, that it basically amounts to sitting around watching the world repeat the same few mistakes over and over, except now you know it’s happening. But it’s also unthinkable to ignore the reality of the situation and live in ignorance. But that feeling probably just stems from the initial curiosity about history, so who knows how universal I’m really being here?