Lisa n Tom (n James n Joseph)

 

Lisa's mom wrote: I don't think shared all of these, so just in case.

Lisa writes: Check off the box -- standard toddler encounter with Santa. Zoom in on the red eyes, runny nose, and tear-stained cheeks. Oh well. He got an orange for his troubles.  

Lisa writes: I think every single one of these is funny.  

Lisa writes: We've started a sort of family tradition where, on a Sunday before Christmas, we go to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception (say that 10 times fast) to see their decorations. Although, truth be told, it's a pretty spectacular building any time of the year. For a toddler, there's room to run, a delightfully echo-y crypt, and fire (James' new word, always spoken with emphasis -- " FIRE" ). Then we hit up the lights at the DC Temple.   Shrine of Mexico: La Virgin de Guadalupe James is done.

Lisa writes: We have little conversations with James now. Us: [Achoo] James: "Ok?" James, first thing in the morning: "Baba!" Me, bringing him into bed with me while Tom goes to get a bottle: "Baba, dada." James knows this means Tom will return with breakfast shortly and he waits patiently. Tom arrives and hands James the bottle. James: "Tank oo." Tom was walking James to the park today. They haven't been for a weeks, but last time they went Tom pushed James on the swing while singing a little song Tom's father made up that goes, "Oh baby, oh baby." As soon as he caught sight of the swings, James, expectantly: "Oh baby, oh baby?" He also clearly knows what "night night," "diaper," and "bye bye" mean, especially when he doesn't want to do any of them. Other words include "mani" (peanut butter), "arbol" (tree, particularly the Christmas tree), and ...

Trudi, channeling her inner-Vanna to try to get us to take away this lovely wardrobe (that we don't have room for -- anybody want a wardrobe?).

Lisa writes: First, he didn't want to get on the bear, then he didn't want to get off of the bear. It's a really, really big bear.

Lisa writes: Thanksgiving in Vail, year 20-or-so. Tom is taking the picture. Esme is in time-out (she's 3 -- time-out is her life right now), James is starting without us, and I appear to be plotting something.   Kellen, Quetzi, Deb, Lisa, James, Madison, Grandma and Grandpa, and Tom behind the camera wearing a turkey hat.

Lisa writes: No, he didn't hurt himself. In fact, he didn't even move. He was game to go to the rink. he was game to put on the skates. But the second his blades touched the ice he decided, well, you can see what he decided.  

Lisa writes: It went about as well as could be expected.

Lisa writes: James is the master of the escalator. Behold that magnificent dismount!

Lisa writes: Racquetball is a fast and furious sport.   Earlier that day, James test-drove the new snowsuit, but wouldn't wear the gloves. Snow is "Hot! Hot!"    

Lisa writes: This was James's 11th flight in 19 months. (And probably the last time he'll be able to fly free.) We had the window seat on the way out and after James looked out the window for a little while, he held up his guau-guau so it could get a good look too.

Lisa writes: ... the neighbor's leaves. We haven't raked ours yet, and we don't own a boat.  

Lisa writes: There's a little kid playground and a big kid playground in our neighborhood. Tom and James headed off to the big kid one (without me) and I'm heaving 14 different kinds of heart attacks just watching this video.

Lisa writes: James showing off two skills: (1) arranging things. He loves to arrange books, shoes, and his stuffed animals. That blue dog is his favorite thing to sleep with, and it's the bane of his life that it won't sit up properly. (2) saying words. He has a vocabulary of about 20 words that closely reflect his interests -- dada, baba, helicopter.

(I love his lips.)