Evan's Year in Review

At long last, I finished Evan's Year in Review yesterday. As I watched my little boy grow before my eyes, I wanted to capture a few memories that don't appear in pictures. Following tradition, a year in review for my boy...

Oh, Evan, it has been a whirlwind year with you. You are becoming such a little man--no longer my baby, not even a toddler. You crossed the threshold into preschooler, and there are so many, many things I want to remember about this year that aren't necessarily captured in photographs.

As I was compiling your year in review, I gasped as I saw you in the stroller. It's hard to believe you were still riding at the beginning of this year. I can't imagine strapping you into a stroller. You would have none of it. Now, you are in constant motion, running into all kinds of adventures. You tend to jump first and look second. I may wince when you take a tumble, but I so admire your courage and sense of adventure. I hope you never lose it, but I do hope that you start looking at least as you are jumping if not a little before.

I have learned more about rocks, trucks, and trains this year than I ever could have imagined. The library actually ordered new truck books with you in mind because you have checked them all out at least twice. I love listening to your little mouth pronounce big words like "fork lift" and "excavator." I could do with a few less rocks in the dryer, though; please check your pockets. I stopped checking after I pulled out a live beetle.

Small boy, you are stubborn. I will never forget spending an afternoon inside with you while Daddy and Issa played outside. All you had to do was clean up some blocks, but you would not. And so you watched from the window. You may be stubborn, but you may have gotten that streak from me. I hope you learn sooner than I did when to be a little less stubborn. In the meantime, I will still be a little proud when you dig in your heels over something that is important to you. It will serve you well later.

For all of your stubbornness, you are still my  cuddle bug. You love being my "pocket boy," and I will be so sad when that stops. You want me to sit on the couch, and you wedge yourself between me and a pillow, in the pocket. You may be talking about Spiderman or powing something, but you are still snuggled in and a little piece of my baby boy is still there.

In those moments when you are chatty, which is often, I frequently find myself giggling at the cute little way you say things. Dessert is "bee-sert," and I can't pronounce or spell the way you say popsicle. Someday, you will say these words "right," and I will probably cry a bit. I also love that you must say, "Hamma hamma," anytime a hammer is in your hand. It makes me happy.

You got your first big boy haircut this year--complete with buzzers--and at your last hair cut Miss Kelly actually had to thin it a bit so it would be a little less crazy. You went from baby to big boy with one hair cut, and I promise your future teenager to keep plenty of hair gel in the house.You will need it.

You and your sister are fast friends, and it makes my heart happy. I love watching the two of you play, and I even love watching you push her buttons. You have an ornery streak, but heaven help anyone who messes with your big sister. I have seen you puff up and tell bigger kids to leave her alone. I hope you are always this chivalrous. It suits you well.

As tough as you can be, you have the best laughs. And I mean laughs--plural. You have a wicked sense of humor that brings out a full belly laugh, you giggle in a way that could crack crystal when I tickle you, and you have the best maniacal laugh on the planet.

That maniacal laugh comes out most when you are being a full-fledged boy. I never believed in those stereotypes until I had you. You are loud, and boisterous, and full of life. I may occasionally lose my mind with the volume and the constant fear of stitches, but I don't think I would have it any other way. I think God sent you to teach me to worry less and live more--thank you.

I still can't help but worry, and you gave me the scare of my life this year. You had RSV, and it was the longest 48 hours of my life. You avoided the hospital, but seeing you on a pulse ox machine and watching for signs to take you straight to ER was the closest I ever want to come. Never do that to me again. Deal?

On a much lighter note, you are trying your hand at your dressing yourself. I am praying you develop some sense of coordination at some point. Right now, you are a hot mess. Forget about matching, and you have a thing for papa socks with crocs or sandals. Your sister is mortified.

Even when you look like a hobo, I still love you fiercely, little monster. You bring so much joy and laughter and adventure into our lives. You've taught me to worry less about dirt and falling and to focus more on exploring and living. I hope you always, always keep that sense of life about you, and I am so grateful I get to be your mama and enjoy the ride...