Clearing Webs

Walking?!?!!

Last night Phin finally took what we think qualifies as his first steps. I'll refrain from sarcastic remarks.

If you want to view the video and don't have access to the videos on my "private" setting please email me and I'll enable you to access it (he is, as Perkins boys most often are, nakie-poo).

An Excerpt From an email to a friend

I've been lonely for genuine company lately. You know, the kind you don't have to worry about how clean your toilets are. I could use y'all in the same town, ya know.

Okay, wow. You know you don't have much of a life when you're up at midnight on a Saturday night (editors note: the email was actually written around midnight on Friday) writing what amounts to a booklet on potty training. *sigh* This is the stage of life we're in. Though we're immersed in thoughts of children's bowel habits we're also surrounded by such joys as can overwhelm us, bring us to tears if we pause to see how blessed we are.

Phin's Ambulators

So Phin's eighteen months old now and dude's still not walking. He didn't crawl until he was about a year old. He was a facial presentation at birth and had torticollis probably as a result of the difficult birth.

I took him to the chiropractor around 12 months for recurrent ear infections. After a couple visits the doc said he didn't think he could do any more to help with the ear infections but his back was aligned a lot better. And whaddya know but that Phin started crawling that week. So his delays may be related to all that birth trauma and whatnot. Or could not be. We're not all that concerned b/c he seems to be developmentally pretty much on target everywhere else. Honestly it seems to be a streak of stubbornness to us. He uses his walker really well, even going to far as to scoot it around when he wants to turn. But we don't want to assume stubbornness and miss something else that might be going on. So at his eighteen month checkup we got a referral to the Elks and he'll be getting an evaluation to see if there's anything going on that might need occupational therapy or if we just need to give him his own time.

The boys are so into the Signing Time video series lately and there's this song, Shine (p12 of the link), that's really touched me as a mom lately. We all go through periods when we wonder if we're doing enough, if we're doing the right things, if we're not seeing certain things or seeing some things that aren't there. Parenting is this huge responsibility and as the cliche says, kids don't come with a handbook. Gid didn't walk until he was fifteen months but he's always been scary smart. Isaac walked at the standard twelve months and is non-stop physically. Now he's pushing three and still can't tell me his colors or shapes. Does he have learning difficulties? Is he color blind? Am I comparing him too much to Gid and expecting some things earlier than he's ready to do them? And Phin's still not walking. He seems okay. With both cases I haven't been worrying but every now and then I wonder if I should be more concerned. I don't want to be impatient, to push their individual time line but I don't want to miss anything that might actually be out of the norm either. The thing is I don't know. I'm an education major. I took developmental psychology. I've worked w/"normal" kids and kids w/exceptional needs. I have the general idea of what "normal" is supposed to look like. What I'm feeling lately is the line from the song, Well maybe I'm too close to see you clearly. I don't want to diagnose things that aren't there but I don't want to be blind, either. So here we are. Phin'll get his assessment and we'll see if there's anything abnormal going on and we'll continue to work w/colors and shapes w/Ike and take things as they come. I'll keep you posted. And they'll do it in their own time.

Check out this walkin' bubba. It's the directional changes that I really like.

Gid's first Vlog

This is a copy of a vmail Gid made for Ellis.

A Little Blood and The Promised Zuke

Let's begin with this. We're just gonna go ahead and have a little competition. We'll see who can guess how I did this to my thumb. All the hints you're getting are in these three pictures. Now go for it.






I was sitting in the living room the other night when I heard a strange rustling. Going to check it out I saw Arlo had decided to take advantage of our open back door a-like this:


Before we get to the zucchini let's take a look at our biggest squash yet.


And now with no further ado, the newest Perkins!


You see the spanking spoon to the left there. Don't think Phineas didn't take a few sweet whacks on that green zukie bum.


Was I excited or what?

Okay, excited and maybe not so completely right in the head. I very well may need to get out more.


Ooh, and speaking of, this is my hot little self before I went to a bachelorette party last Friday. The zuke stayed home. *ahem*


This is my favorite.

A Victory for ASL?

Riding in the car tonight a discussion b/twn Gid and Ike about whether or not we were on the interstate turned to screams.
"YES WE ARE!!!"
"NO WE NOT!!!"
I told them since they weren't using their words the right way they had to be quiet until we got home. After three seconds of silence I smiled to myself at the reprieve. I ventured a peak in the rear view mirror only to see two angry boys vehemently signing to each other:
"NO!"
"YES!"
"NO!"
"YES!"
"NO!"
"YES!"

I don't mean to brag, but have you seen the size of my zucchini?

So I'm dumbfounded by the size of the zuke that's growing in my garden.

This is not it. Nor, you may be surprised to find out, is that Andy and I.


This kinda makes the idea of lil' babies growing in cabbages a little more realistic, eh?


Apparently John Evans does a bit of gardening. Maybe I'll get around to taking a picture of my zucchini soon. At it's inches a day growth rate no telling how big it'll be when I finally get the camera out to the garden.

Deaf Poetry

Watch this until the poem at the end. Ooh. Gives me chill bumps.

To Still Love My Dog

I've cleaned his poop. I've shampooed his pee. I've shaved his hair. I've scraped up his vomit. I sleep with this dog, take trips to the park just for him, kiss his slimy nose. I struggled with my affections during the periods of pooping in the playroom. But love is an action, right? And those feelings soon swoon their way back to the top.

Well, now he's just broken my heart. We're talking tears here. Irrational melodramatic tears, yes, but tears nonetheless. My sweet, trusted friend dug in my garden! *Pause for gasps here.* That's right. Gnawed my best pumpkin vine and completely ate my best bell pepper plant. Completely. I'm talking I was in the garden messing around for almost ten minutes before I found the remnant: a root with about three inches of stalk left. Arlo was still in the middle of mangling the pumpkin vine when I caught him so who knows what that sneaky labradoodle would've done. Picture this: I'm at the stove in all my apron-wearing domestic wonder, stirring the beginnings of some squash pudding (mmm!). I smile to myself as I hear the two older boys peacefully humming out car noises in the backyard and my dear, non-walker in the next room cooing at balls sliding down their circular chute. I peak in at Phin who babbles a little love poem to his beloved spheres and turn to check the other boys. As I near the back door and turn the corner we switch into slow-mo as a look of betrayal and panic takes over my face. "NOOOOO-OOOOOooo!" And I leap slowly, frozen in time, down the back steps, reaching a lone profitless palm outward towards my cherished garden. I land and slow-mo retreats as does my poor poodle half-breed. I'm too late. A cold dark hole where once a bush harboring assuring blooms augustly stood. A crippled vine cut off from it's birth place. Treachery. Treachery!




Oh, curly-haired once-muse, what could have prompted this treason? Was it the lack of a walk this morning? Could it have been continuing the jog last night when you tried to stop at the car? Was it slipping you hot dog last night instead of the cooking chicken? Were you hurt that Dad moved you from our bed last night? You were taking up quite a chunk of real estate up there. Were you driven by jealousy, done watching me primp my beloved greenery? Were you ready to preen this mistress of our love yourself? Or was it simply a primal drive you could resist no longer? I'd like to believe so, dear friend. I'd like to believe your heart was for helping me prune. But why the best? Why the two I had such high hopes for? Not the zucchini or squash we've grown accustomed to; not the green beans almost past harvesting. I cannot help but see the facts as they lay before me: a contorted vine still limply holding the young pumpkin and a root ball with barely a stub protruding.

But no matter. The issue now turns to the price of love. What betrayal goes beyond forgiveness? This is not it, my dear friend. We will tarry on. When the foundation shakes, we will stand. Our love will survive and slowly, with time and concentrated ardor will once again bloom.