It's the most wonderful time of the year

Well, hello there. It seems I haven't updated in a very long time -- let's get this thing dusted off, shall we?

Something unfathomable has occurred: my little baby son is now two years old and therefore not a baby at all anymore. All week I've walked around in a sort of daze over this. I've been prone to grabbing Matt's arm and saying, with no small amount of urgency, "Isaac isn't a baby at all anymore." And then I make this little sad face, which leads to Matt smiling indulgently and replying, "Yes, but he's still a little guy. And he's awfully sweet."

This is true. Isaac is the sweetest little guy I could ever, ever hope to raise, and I kind of can't believe how lucky we are. I always had this feeling that I'd be the mother of a son, if only because something had to disrupt my love and need for order in my world, but I don't think I quite anticipated just how delightful sons could be. Let me tell you, if the way Isaac blows kisses with those chubby little toddler fingers doesn't melt you on the spot, you don't have a heart at all. He has a way of smiling bashfully that leads heavily pierced girls behind the counter of the record store to call him "Sugar."

Last night, we dressed him in new fleece jammies his Grandma Winslow made for him, and he was so pleased with them. He couldn't stop petting himself, rubbing his hands all over his soft pajama top, and he just beamed and beamed -- my rosy-cheeked little boy. (And I couldn't stop picking him up and squeezing him and kissing those rosy cheeks. I do this a lot because I understand that someday I will not be allowed to kiss him with such abandon.) This morning when we got him up, we decided he needed to go to church in actual little boy daytime clothes, and he was very, very sad about this, and many bitter tears were shed.

He and his sister love each other, and they rush into each other's arms for bedtime hugs and good-morning hugs and good-bye hugs and hello hugs after school. They play together every afternoon, and it goes beautifully until it doesn't and someone is screaming. I don't worry about this too much, since a.) sometimes the screaming is part of whatever weird game they've invented and b.) even if it's not, I also have a little brother, and I know these things usually tend to work themselves out. I will, however, intervene if there is biting and/or hair-pulling. (Isaac is a joyful, exuberant, loving boy, but he's not a particularly gentle boy.)

He's heavily into trains right now, which seems like a pretty typical little-boy thing. Suzannah is a great help to us at night when he doesn't want to go to bed, because she'll say, "Hey, Isaac, do you wanna choo choo?" And he runs over and grabs her waist and they make a little train, chug-a-chugging down the hall to the bedroom. Suzannah is the engine and the conductor, of course, hollering "Chug-a-WOO WOO! Chug-a-WOO WOO!" And Isaac trots merrily behind.

Two years and a few days ago, Isaac burst into the world on a tidal wave of laughter and joy, and we haven't stopped laughing since.

I had all these things to post about, but this seems like the most important thing. It's pretty great to realize that no matter how exhausted I am, no matter how frustrated or disheartened I am, no matter what difficult thing we're dealing with, there has not been one single day since I've become a mother that I have not experienced real joy.

Of course, this perspective comes much more easily tonight, on this lovely, dark, cozy Sunday night, this night on which I am not worried about anything because I do not have school for the next two weeks. Suzannah and I are going to have some great mama-daughter bonding time this week, and I am going to read lots of books, and Matt and I have already had a date night -- dinner at Wild Ginger before enjoying Handel's Messiah with the Seattle Symphony, followed by dessert at a downtown wine bar. (We stayed out until midnight. Have we even done that since we had children? I don't remember. It seemed like a Big Indulgent Deal.)

I have some papers to grade, but I'm going to forget they exist for several days. And now I'm off to cook up a big pot of Indonesian sweet potato and cabbage soup and not worry about staying up too late and not getting enough done.